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The incessant ringing of the bell echoed through the quiet halls, a jarring contrast to the tense atmosphere within. George, sensing the urgency, took it upon himself to answer the door. With no servants remaining after recent departures, the task fell to him alone.

Frustration laced his voice as he swung the gate open, confronting the impatient visitors outside. “Who dares disturb us so vehemently?”

“Aye, and who might you be?” retorted a rough voice from the other side.

“State your business,” George demanded.

“Admiral Bell, that’s who!” proclaimed the gruff admiral. “What’s it to you?”

With a mixture of annoyance and curiosity, George responded, “What brings you here?”

“Madmen, most likely,” muttered George under his breath, moving to close the gate. However, Jack, with a stick, prevented him from shutting them out completely.

“None of that! We’ve come to see Mister Charley,” Jack announced.

“And how am I to know who Mister Charley is to you?” George challenged.

“Charles Holland, of course,” Jack clarified.

George’s demeanor softened slightly. “If you had asked plainly, I could have saved us this exchange. Charles is indeed here.”

“Then lead the way,” the admiral commanded. “But hold on a moment. Before we proceed, tell me, has he vanquished the vampire?”

“The what?” George was taken aback.

“The wamphigher,” Jack clarified, albeit cryptically.

“I cannot say,” George replied firmly. “If you wish to see Charles, come inside. But I won’t entertain further inquiries from strangers.”

As they entered, Jack pointed out a scene unfolding in the distance. George followed his gaze to see Sir Ferdinand Lazarus and Mr. O’Hara engaged in a heated altercation.

“Who are they?” Jack exclaimed.

George’s concern grew as he observed Lazarus striking O’Hara, sending him to the ground.

“Let me through!” George’s voice cut through the tense air as he tried to navigate past the bulky figure of the admiral. The gate, narrow and unwieldy, delayed his progress. In that brief moment, Lazarus swiftly slipped away, leaving O’Hara to rise from the ground and approach the Hall.

Motioning for George to stay put, O’Hara closed the distance with rapid strides. “George,” he began, his tone carrying a mix of urgency and agitation, “I’ve had a run-in with Sir Ferdinand Lazarus.”

“I saw it happen,” George replied, his eyes reflecting concern.

“He could have killed me if he wasn’t afraid of being caught,” O’Hara confessed grimly, his breath still quick from the encounter.

“Are you saying that tall, sinister-looking man is capable of murder?” the admiral interjected incredulously.

O’Hara turned to assess the newcomers, his gaze lingering on them before returning to George. “Is this gentleman a guest?”

“To Mr. Holland, yes,” George replied, gesturing towards the admiral. “But I don’t know his name.”

“Ah, let me enlighten you then,” the admiral boomed. “I’m old Admiral Bell, a relic of the sea but still a force to reckon with if need be.”

“Aye, aye,” Jack chimed in, producing a whistle that pierced the air with a shrill blast, causing George to wince at the sudden noise.

“And are you related to Mr. Holland?” O’Hara inquired politely.

“I’m his uncle,” the admiral declared proudly, “and I’ve come to put a stop to his fanciful notions of marrying mythical creatures.”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Come inside,” George invited, ignoring the admiral’s colorful language. “I’ll take you to Mr. Holland. And is this your companion?”

“Jack Pringle,” the admiral introduced, “once my boatswain, now... well, something of a free spirit.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” Jack nodded. “Though we’ve been paid off.”

“Quiet, you rascal,” the admiral snapped. “Mind your tongue.”

“Sorry, sir. All’s well.”

As they made their way across the garden, Charles and Henry appeared at the steps of the hall, their curiosity piqued. Charles’s expression shifted, a mixture of surprise and apprehension crossing his features as he exclaimed, “There’s my uncle!”

“Your uncle?” Henry echoed.

“Yes, a good-hearted man but steeped in old beliefs,” Charles explained, his voice tinged with both fondness and exasperation.

Without waiting for Henry’s response, Charles Holland surged forward, grasping his uncle’s hand with genuine affection. “Uncle, dear uncle, how did you find me?”

“Charley, my boy,” the old man exclaimed, his words a blend of affection and gruffness, “bless you—or confound your impudence! I’m glad to see you, you rascal—young mutineer! What’s this, you ugly, ill-looking fine fellow—my dear boy! Oh, you infernal scoundrel!” His handshakes were vigorous, almost dislocating Charles’s shoulder.

Amidst the shaking, Charles managed to speak. “Uncle, I’m sure you’re surprised.”

“Surprised? Damn right, I am.”

“I’ll explain everything. Let me introduce you to my friends.” Charles turned to Henry. “This is Mr. Henry Bennett, and this is Mr. George Bennett, both good friends. And this is Mr. O’Hara, their friend.”

“Oh, indeed,” the admiral grunted.

“Admiral Bell, my rather eccentric uncle,” Charles continued, unfazed by the grumbling.

“Confounded impudence,” the admiral muttered.

“And this is Jack Pringle, a man of the sea,” Charles added, noting the lack of introductions. “He hates the French and lives for battle.”

“Quite true,” the admiral agreed.

“Please, come in,” Henry invited warmly. “Anyone connected to Charles is welcome. We’re short on staff due to family matters, which Charles can explain.”

“Very well,” the admiral declared. “I like what I’ve seen of you lot. Let’s go, Jack.”

As they entered the house, Charles whispered to his uncle, “How did you know I was here?”

“Got a message,” the admiral replied. “Said you were planning some odd marriage that wouldn’t sit well with the family.”

“Was... was a vampire mentioned?”

“That’s the one.”

“Shh, uncle, not in front of our friends,” Charles urged. “I’ll explain everything soon, and you can judge for yourself.”

“Gammon,” the admiral grumbled.

“What, uncle?” Charles inquired.

“Oh, I know you’re trying to convince me it’s all fine and dandy. If my judgment and generosity don’t approve, I’ll be an old fool and a cursed goose, won’t I?”

“Now, uncle...”

“Now, nevey.”

“Fine, fine—let’s talk about it later. Promise me you won’t mention it until you’ve heard my explanation, uncle?”

“Fair enough. Make it quick and to the point, that’s all I ask.”

“I will, I will.”

Charles was just as eager as his uncle to delve into the subject, suspecting that someone’s meddling had prompted the old man’s visit. Who could have interfered enough to write to him, Charles couldn’t fathom.

A brief explanation clarified Charles Holland’s situation. A substantial inheritance awaited him, but he couldn’t access it until he turned twenty-two. His uncle, the admiral, oversaw his fortune, wisely consulting a reputable lawyer for guidance.

The lawyer suggested that Charles spend the intervening years traveling, to avoid financial entanglements. Charles, initially excited by the prospect, grew disenchanted with everything except Flora Bennett. Her departure left him adrift, prompting his return to England to find her.

Deciding not to involve his uncle or the lawyer until necessary, Charles sought solace at Bennett Hall, unaware of the family’s turmoil.

The precise circumstances that led to Charles’s arrival at Bennett Hall were clouded in mystery. What he hoped would be a time of joy turned somber as he encountered a family in distress, a stark contrast to his expectations.

In the midst of Bennett Hall’s eerie atmosphere, Charles grappled with disbelief in vampires, a sentiment slowly eroded by overwhelming evidence. Though not fully convinced of their existence, doubt gnawed at him.

Seeking counsel, Charles confided in Henry, wrestling with whether to disclose the family’s predicament to his uncle.

“My friend,” Charles began, “I’m torn. Should I reveal this tragic affair to my uncle, or shield him from the horrors we face?”

“Please, Charles,” Henry implored, “secrecy breeds more harm than good. Be transparent. Let him understand our plight fully. Concealment only invites darkness.”

“I’ll heed your advice,” Charles resolved. “And I’ll confess my heart’s allegiance to Flora.”

Moved by Charles’s devotion, Henry nodded. “Your steadfast loyalty to her, despite adversity, speaks volumes. Go to your uncle. May Providence guide your words.”

“Where’s Flora?” Charles inquired.

“In her chamber, finding solace in literature,” Henry answered.

“Then let’s lift her spirits,” Charles proposed. “I’ve brought tales that might distract her from our troubles.”

In his room, Charles retrieved manuscripts, offering Henry one. “Give this to her. It’s a tale of resilience, showing that human spirit can endure even greater trials.”

Henry accepted it gratefully. “Coming from you, it’ll mean the world to her.”

“I’ll find my uncle now,” Charles decided. “I’ll share my love for her and our ordeal. And if he permits, I’d like him to meet Flora, to witness the beauty that captivates my soul.”

“You’re biased, Charles,” Henry teased.

“Perhaps,” Charles admitted, “but my love for her is grounded in truth.”

“Let me speak with her first,” Henry suggested. “No doubt, my uncle will welcome a meeting with someone you hold in such high regard.”

With a shared purpose, the friends parted ways—Henry to comfort his sister, and Charles to unveil the mysteries surrounding Lazarus, the Vampire, to his uncle.