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When Charles Holland ushered his uncle into a dimly lit study, the air seemed thick with unspoken words. The ancient books lining the shelves whispered secrets of the past, their leather bindings cracked and worn. Charles’s eyes gleamed with a fierce determination as he began, “Uncle, you are a seaman, and accustomed to deciding matters of honor. I feel deeply insulted by this Sir Ferdinand Lazarus. Every account portrays him as a gentleman. He openly bears a title that, if fraudulent, could easily be disproven. So, his position in society is beyond question. What would you do if you were insulted by such a man?”
The old admiral’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. “I see where you’re steering, boy,” he said with a knowing smile.
“What would you do, uncle?” Charles pressed, leaning forward.
“Fight him!” the admiral declared, his voice booming with conviction.
“I knew you would say so, and that’s exactly what I intend to do with Sir Ferdinand Lazarus.”
“Well, my boy, I don’t know that you can do better. He must be a thundering rascal, vampire or not. If you feel insulted, fight him by all means.”
“I’m glad you agree, uncle. I knew the Bennett's would try to dissuade me.”
“Of course, they would. They’re terrified of his supposed vampire powers. And remember, the fewer people know about a duel, the better.”
“True, uncle. If I defeat Lazarus, it might end the Bennetts’ fears. If he defeats me, at least I’ll have tried to free Flora from his grip.”
“And then he’ll have to fight me,” the admiral added, a fierce grin spreading across his face. “He’ll have two chances, at least.”
“No, uncle, that wouldn’t be fair. If I fall, I entrust Flora Bennett to your care. Henry’s financial troubles are severe, and Flora may need a friend.”
“Never fear, Charles. She’ll never want while the old admiral has a shot in his locker.”
“Thank you, uncle. I trust in your kindness and generosity. Now, about the challenge?”
“You write it, boy, and I’ll deliver it.”
“Will you second me, uncle?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t trust anyone else. Leave all the arrangements to me.”
“I’ll write it now. His intrusion into Flora’s chamber is ample cause for action.”
“It certainly is, my boy.”
“And the wound corroborates that Sir Ferdinand Lazarus is the vampire, or at least posing as one.”
“That’s clear enough. Come, write your challenge at once and let me have it.”
“I will, uncle.” Charles was both astonished and pleased by his uncle’s ready agreement to fight a vampire. He attributed it to the old man’s life of strife and contention, which made him downplay its importance. As Charles wrote the note, he was unaware of the cunning look on the admiral’s face. The old man’s apparent acquiescence might have seemed deceptive had Charles noticed. Instead, he focused on his task, and soon read the note aloud to his uncle:
To Sir Ferdinand Lazarus
Sir,
The expressions you have used towards me, coupled with the general circumstances, which I need not elaborate here, compel me to demand satisfaction befitting one gentleman to another. My uncle, Admiral Bell, is the bearer of this note and will arrange the preliminaries with any friend you appoint to act on your behalf.
Yours, Charles Holland
“Will that do?” asked Charles, a hint of tension in his voice.
“Capital!” declared the admiral, his eyes twinkling with approval.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“Oh, I couldn’t help liking it. The least said and the most to the point, always pleases me best. This explains nothing and demands everything you want—a fight. It’s perfect, you see, and nothing could be better.”
Charles glanced at his uncle, trying to gauge whether the old man was mocking him. But the admiral’s face was so unnaturally serious that Charles couldn’t be sure.
“I repeat, it’s a capital letter,” the admiral reiterated.
“Yes, you said so.”
“Well, what are you staring at?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“Do you doubt my word?”
“Not at all, uncle; I just thought there was a touch of irony in your tone.”
“Not at all, my boy. I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
“Very good. Then you will remember that I leave my honor in this affair completely in your hands.”
“Depend on me, my boy.”
“I will, and do.”
“I’ll be off and see the fellow at once.”
The admiral bustled out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. Moments later, Charles heard him calling loudly, “Jack—Jack Pringle, you lubber, where are you?—Jack Pringle, I say.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Jack, emerging from the kitchen where he had been helping Mrs. Bennett cook dinner for the family.
“Come on, you rascal, we’re going for a walk.”
“The rations will be served out soon,” Jack growled.
“We’ll be back in time, you cormorant, never fear. You’re always thinking of eating and drinking, Jack; I’ll be hanged if I think you ever think of anything else. Come on, will you; I’m going on a rather particular cruise just now, so mind what you’re about.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said Jack, and the two men, who understood each other perfectly, walked away, their voices fading as they moved into the distance.
Charles paced back and forth in the dimly lit study, the heavy drapes casting long shadows that danced with the flickering candlelight. He was thoughtful, as anyone might be who knew that the next twenty-four hours could be the end of his life.
“Oh, Flora—Flora!” he exclaimed, his voice a whisper of despair. “How happy we might have been! But now it seems nothing is left but to kill this dreadful man who exists in such a fearful state. And if I do kill him in fair and open fight, I will ensure his mortal frame can never rise again to haunt us.”
It was a testament to the power of the circumstances that a young man like Charles Holland, of first-rate abilities and education, found himself reasoning about preventing the resurrection of a vampire. But so it was. His imagination had succumbed to the relentless succession of events.
“I have heard and read,” he murmured as he continued his agitated pacing, “of how these dreadful beings are kept in their graves. Stakes driven through the body to pin it to the earth until decay makes revivification impossible. Then again,” he added after a pause, “I’ve heard of them being burned, the ashes scattered to the winds to prevent them from ever assuming human form again.”
These thoughts brought a shudder to him. The idea of engaging in combat with a being who might have lived more than a hundred years filled him with a kind of trembling horror.
Charles Holland gazed intently at the portrait hanging on the dark, wood-paneled wall. The painted man looked to be in the prime of life, with piercing eyes that seemed to follow Charles wherever he moved. "If that portrait truly depicts Sir Ferdinand Lazarus," Charles mused, "then by the family’s accounts, he must be nearly one hundred and fifty years old now."
This thought led his imagination down a path of eerie conjectures. "What changes he must have witnessed in that time," he pondered. "He must have seen kingdoms rise and fall, and witnessed countless shifts in habits, manners, and customs. And all the while, renewing his dreadful existence by such horrific means."
The implications were vast and chilling, especially as Charles was about to face such a being in mortal combat for the sake of the woman he loved. The gravity of his mission weighed heavily upon him. "But I will fight him," he declared aloud, his voice echoing in the dim room. "For Flora’s sake, even if he were a hundred times more monstrous than the evidence suggests. I will fight him, and perhaps it will be my fate to rid the world of this abomination."
Charles felt a surge of determination, convincing himself that by attempting to destroy Sir Ferdinand Lazarus, he was acting as a defender of humanity. The urgency and righteousness of his cause fortified his resolve. "It must be a fight to the death," he murmured. "Either he or I must fall."
Determined, Charles sought out Flora. The thought of being separated from her by death's cold hand made every moment with her precious. As he moved through the shadowy corridors of the house, the flickering candlelight cast long, wavering shadows, heightening his sense of foreboding and urgency.
Meanwhile, Admiral Bell and Jack Pringle made their way to Sir Ferdinand Lazarus's residence. The admiral, confident in Jack’s discretion, explained his plan, receiving Jack’s full approval. The pair walked briskly, the grim purpose of their visit lending urgency to their steps.
Upon reaching the grand house, they were courteously received. The admiral instructed Jack to wait in the opulent hall while he was shown upstairs to the private room of the vampire. "Confound the fellow!" the admiral muttered. "He's certainly well-housed. Not one of those vampires who only have their coffins to retire to at night."
The room was shrouded in an eerie green light, cast by the drawn blinds. Though the sun shone brightly outside, its light filtered through the blinds, casting an unnatural hue over everything within. This strange light seemed to transform Lazarus’s sallow face into something even more ghastly. He sat on a luxurious couch and rose as the admiral entered, his deep voice resonating through the room. "My humble home is much honored by your presence, sir."
"Good morning," said the admiral curtly. "I have come to speak with you, sir, rather seriously."
"However abrupt this announcement may sound to me," Lazarus replied, "I shall always hear with the utmost respect whatever Admiral Bell may have to say."
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"No respect required," retorted the admiral. "Just a little attention."
Sir Ferdinand bowed with stately grace. "I shall be quite unhappy if you will not be seated, Admiral Bell."
"Oh, never mind that, Sir Ferdinand Lazarus, if you are Sir Ferdinand Lazarus. For all I know, you may be the devil himself. My nephew, Charles Holland, considers that he has a very substantial quarrel with you."
The room was dimly lit, the flickering candles casting long, wavering shadows across the walls lined with dark, weathered wood. Admiral Bell stood resolute, his steely gaze fixed on the enigmatic figure of Sir Ferdinand Lazarus. The air was thick with an unspoken tension, the kind that settles like a heavy fog, seeping into every crevice and making the heart pound just a little harder.
“I much grieve to hear it,” Lazarus said, his voice smooth and unsettlingly calm.
“Do you?” Admiral Bell’s voice was sharp, cutting through the oppressive atmosphere like a knife.
“Believe me, I do. I am most scrupulous in what I say; and an assertion that I am grieved, you may thoroughly and entirely depend upon.” Lazarus’s words were precise, his tone almost too polite, as if the situation amused him.
“Well, well, never mind that; Charles Holland is a young man just entering into life. He loves a girl who is, I think, every way worthy of him.”
“Oh, what a felicitous prospect!” Lazarus interjected, his lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Just hear me out, if you please.”
“With pleasure, sir -- with pleasure.”
Admiral Bell took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Well, then, when a young, hot-headed fellow thinks he has a good ground of quarrel with anybody, you will not be surprised at his wanting to fight it out.”
“Not at all.”
“Well, then, to come to the point, my nephew, Charles Holland, has a fancy for fighting with you.”
“Ah!” Lazarus’s response was a mere breath, a whisper of amusement.
“You take it d -- -- d easy.”
“My dear sir, why should I be uneasy? He is not my nephew, you know. I shall have no particular cause, beyond those feelings of common compassion which I hope inhabit my breast as well as every one else’s.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, he is a young man just, as you say, entering into life, and I cannot help thinking it would be a pity to cut him off like a flower in the bud, so very soon.”
“Oh, you make quite sure, then, of settling him, do you?”
“My dear sir, only consider; he might be very troublesome, indeed; you know young men are hot-headed and troublesome. Even if I were only to maim him, he might be a continual and never-ceasing annoyance to me. I think I should be absolutely, in a manner of speaking, compelled to cut him off.”
“The devil you do!”
“As you say, sir.”
“D -- n your assurance, Mr. Vampire, or whatever odd fish you may be.”
“Admiral Bell, I never called upon you and received a courteous reception, and then insulted you.”
“Then why do you talk of cutting off a better man than yourself? D -- n it, what would you say to him cutting you off?”
“Oh, as for me, my good sir, that’s quite another thing. Cutting me off is very doubtful.”
Sir Ferdinand Lazarus gave a strange, almost otherworldly smile as he spoke, shaking his head slightly, as if the idea of his demise was a ludicrous notion not worth entertaining. The faint green light filtering through the blinds cast an eerie glow on his sallow face, making his expression even more sinister.
Admiral Bell felt a surge of anger rise within him, but he forced it down, knowing it would do no good here. “Mr. Lazarus,” he said, his voice a controlled growl, “all this is quite beside the question; but at all events, if it has any weight at all, it should have considerable influence in deciding you to accept the terms I propose.”
“What are they, sir?”
“Why, that you permit me to espouse my nephew Charles’s quarrel, and meet you instead of him.”
“You meet me?” Lazarus’s eyebrows arched in mild surprise.
“Yes; I’ve met a better man more than once before. It can make no difference to you.”
“I don’t know that, Admiral Bell. One generally likes, in a duel, to face him with whom one has had the misunderstanding, be it on what grounds it may.”
The ancient mansion was bathed in an eerie, greenish glow that seeped through the drawn blinds, casting ghostly shadows on the walls. The flickering candlelight did little to chase away the gloom, only enhancing the room’s oppressive atmosphere. Admiral Bell stood in the center, his eyes locked onto the enigmatic figure of Sir Ferdinand Lazarus, who lounged with a chilling nonchalance.
“There’s some reason, I know, in what you say,” the admiral began, his voice steady but taut with tension. “But, surely, if I am willing, you need not object.”
Lazarus leaned back, a faint, almost mocking smile playing on his lips. “And is your nephew willing to shift the danger and the duty of resenting his own quarrels onto your shoulders?”
“No; he knows nothing about it. He has written you a challenge, of which I am the bearer, but I voluntarily, and of my own accord, wish to meet you instead.”
“This is a strange mode of proceeding,” Lazarus remarked, his tone laden with condescension.
“If you will not accede to it, and fight him first, and any harm comes to him, you shall fight me afterwards.”
“Indeed.” Lazarus’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with a cold amusement.
“Yes, indeed you shall, however surprised you may look.”
“As this appears to be a family affair,” Sir Ferdinand Lazarus mused, “it certainly does appear immaterial which of you I fight with first.”
“Quite so; now you take a sensible view of the question. Will you meet me?”
“I have no particular objection. Have you settled all your affairs, and made your will?”
“What’s that to you?” the admiral snapped, his patience wearing thin.
“Oh, I only asked because there is generally so much food for litigation if a man dies intestate and is worth any money.”
“You make devilish sure,” Admiral Bell growled, “of being the victor. Have you made your will?”
“My will,” Sir Ferdinand smiled, a chilling, predatory smile, “is quite an indifferent affair.”
“Well, make it or not, as you like. I am old, I know, but I can pull a trigger as well as anyone.”
“Do what?” Lazarus’s eyes narrowed, his smile fading slightly.
“Pull a trigger.”
“Why, you don’t suppose I resort to any such barbarous modes of fighting, do you?”
“Barbarous! Why, how do you fight then?”
“As a gentleman, with my sword.”
“Swords! Oh, nonsense! Nobody fights with swords nowadays. That’s all exploded.”
“I cling to the customs and the fashions of my youth,” Lazarus said with a wistful air. “I have been, years ago, accustomed always to wear a sword, and to be without one now vexes me.”
“Pray, how many years ago?”
“I am older than I look, but that is not the question. I am willing to meet you with swords if you like. You are no doubt aware that, as the challenged party, I am entitled to the choice of weapons.”
“I am,” the admiral conceded, though his expression darkened.
“Then you cannot object to my availing myself of the one in the use of which I am perfectly unequalled.”
“Indeed.”
“Yes, I am, I think, the first swordsman in Europe; I have had immense practice.”
“Well, sir, you have certainly made a most unexpected choice of weapons. I can use a sword still, but am by no means a master of fencing. However, it shall not be said that I went back from my word. Let the chances be as desperate as they may, I will meet you.”
“Very good.”
“With swords?”
“Ay, with swords. But I must have everything properly arranged so that no blame can rest on me, you know. As you will be killed, you are safe from all consequences, but I shall be in a very different position; so, if you please, I must have this meeting got up in such a manner as shall enable me to prove, to whoever may question me on the subject, that you had fair play.”
“Oh, never fear that.”
“But I do fear it. The world, my good sir, is censorious, and you cannot stop people from saying extremely ill-natured things.”
“What is it that you require, then?”
“I require that you send me a friend with a formal challenge.”
“Well?”
“Then I shall refer him to a friend of mine, and they two must settle everything between them.”
“Is that all?”
“Not quite. I will have a surgeon on the ground, in case, when I pink you, there should be a chance of saving your life. It always looks humane.”
“When you pink me?”
“Precisely.”
“Upon my word, you take these affairs easy. I suppose you have had a few of them?”
“Oh, a good number. People like yourself worry me into them. I don’t like the trouble, I assure you; it is no amusement to me. I would rather, by a great deal, make some concession than fight, because I will fight with swords, and the result is then so certain that there is no danger in the matter to me.”
The old mansion was cloaked in a shroud of mist, the flickering candlelight casting elongated shadows that danced with eerie grace along the faded wallpaper. The air was thick with the scent of damp wood and a faint, metallic tang that hinted at old blood. Admiral Bell stood in the dimly lit drawing room, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Sir Ferdinand Lazarus, who lounged with unsettling ease.
“Hark you, Sir Ferdinand Lazarus,” the admiral began, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence like a blade. “You are either a very clever actor or a man, as you say, of such skill with your sword that you can make sure of the result of a duel. You know, therefore, that it is not fair play on your part to fight a duel with that weapon.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon there,” Lazarus replied, his tone laced with a mocking politeness. “I never challenge anybody, and when foolish people call me out, contrary to my inclination, I think I am bound to take what care of myself I can.”
“Damn me, there’s some reason in that,” said the admiral, a reluctant nod acknowledging the point. “But why do you insult people?”
“People insult me first.”
“Oh, nonsense!”
“How should you like to be called a vampire and stared at as if you were some hideous natural phenomenon?” Lazarus’s eyes glinted with a dangerous light.
“Well, but—”
“I say, Admiral Bell, how should you like it? I am a harmless country gentleman, and because, in the heated imagination of some member of a crack-brained family, some housebreaker has been converted into a vampire, I am to be pitched upon as the man and insulted and persecuted accordingly.”
“But you forget the proofs.”
“What proofs?”
“The portrait, for one.”
“What! Because there is an accidental likeness between me and an old picture, am I to be set down as a vampire? Why, when I was in Austria last, I saw an old portrait of a celebrated court fool, and you so strongly resemble it that I was quite struck when I first saw you with the likeness; but I was not so impolite as to tell you that I considered you were the court fool turned vampire.”
“Damn your assurance!”
“And damn yours, if you come to that.”
The admiral was fairly beaten. Sir Ferdinand Lazarus was by far too sharp and witty for him. After a futile attempt to find something more to say, the old man buttoned up his coat in great anger. Looking fiercely at Lazarus, he declared, “I don’t pretend to a gift of the gab. Damn me, it ain’t one of my peculiarities; but though you may talk me down, you shan’t keep me down.”
“Very good, sir.”
“It is not very good. You shall hear from me.”
“I am willing.”
“I don’t care whether you are willing or not. You shall find that when once I begin to tackle an enemy, I don’t so easily leave him. One or both of us, sir, is sure to sink.”
“Agreed.”
“So say I. You shall find that I’m a tar for all weathers, and if you were a hundred and fifty vampires all rolled into one, I’d tackle you somehow.”
The admiral stormed towards the door in high dudgeon. As he neared it, Lazarus’s voice, smooth and sinister, reached him. “Will you not take some refreshment, sir, before you go from my humble house?”
“No!” roared the admiral.
“Something cooling?”
“No!”
“Very good, sir. A hospitable host can do no more than offer to entertain his guests.”
Admiral Bell turned at the door, his face twisted with fury. “You look rather poorly. I suppose tonight you will go and suck somebody’s blood, you shark—you confounded vampire! You ought to be made to swallow a red-hot brick, and then let dance about till it digests.”
Lazarus smiled as he rang the bell. “Show my very excellent friend Admiral Bell out. He will not take any refreshments,” he instructed the servant with an air of serene malevolence.
The servant bowed and preceded the admiral down the grand staircase. To his great surprise, instead of a customary tip, he received a tremendous kick from the admiral, who barked, “Take that to your master with my compliments.”
The fury that engulfed the old admiral was indescribable. He stormed out of the mansion and walked towards Bennett Hall at such a rapid pace that Jack Pringle struggled to keep up, barely managing to stay within speaking distance. The night seemed to close in around them, the looming shadows whispering of darker things to come.
The night cloaked Bennett Hall in shadows, the ancient building looming like a dark sentinel against the stormy sky. The wind whispered through the bare branches of gnarled trees, carrying with it the scent of impending rain and decay. Admiral Bell, his face set in a grimace of irritation, stormed towards the entrance, his footsteps echoing on the cobblestones.
“Hilloa, Jack,” cried the old man, his voice a rough bark that shattered the eerie silence. As they approached the hall, the flickering lanterns cast their shadows long and menacing. “Did you see me kick that fellow?”
“Ay, ay, sir,” replied Jack, his weathered face creasing into a knowing grin.
“Well, that’s some consolation, at any rate, if somebody saw it. It ought to have been his master, that’s all I can say to it, and I wish it had.”
“How have you settled it, sir?” Jack inquired, a note of curiosity threading through his tone.
“Settled what?” the admiral growled, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.
“The fight, sir.”
“Damn me, Jack, I haven’t settled it at all.”
“That’s bad, sir.”
“I know it is; but it shall be settled for all that, I can tell him, let him bluster as much as he may about pinking me, and one thing and another.”
“Pinking you, sir?”
“Yes. He wants to fight with cutlasses, or toasting-forks—damn me, I don’t know exactly which. And then he must have a surgeon on the ground, for fear when he pinks me, I shouldn’t slip my cable in a regular way, and he should be blamed.”
Jack gave a long, low whistle, the sound lingering in the cold night air. “Going to do it, sir?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Mind, Jack, mum’s the word.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“I’ll turn the matter over in my mind, and then decide upon what had best be done. If he pinks me, I’ll take damn good care he don’t pink Charles.”
“No, sir, don’t let him do that. A vampire, sir, ain’t no good opponent to anybody. I never seen one afore, but it strikes me as the best way to settle him would be to shut him up in some little bit of a cabin, and then smoke him with brimstone, sir.”
“Well, well, I’ll consider, Jack, I’ll consider. Something must be done, and that quickly too.” The admiral’s gaze darkened as he spotted a familiar figure approaching through the gloom. “Zounds, here’s Charles—what the deuce shall I say to him, by way of an excuse, I wonder, for not arranging his affair with Lazarus? Hang me, if I ain’t taken aback now, and don’t know where to place a hand.”