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The old admiral’s temper flared at the thought that Charles might question the authenticity of his tale. Charles, understanding the volatile nature of the situation, chose his words carefully. “It’s quite remarkable, indeed. Truly extraordinary,” he said, appeasing the old man with his feigned admiration.
As the day slipped away into twilight, Charles Holland’s mind drifted back to his looming engagement with the vampire, Sir Ferdinand Lazarus. He read the letter repeatedly, trying to decipher if it implied a duel or merely a meeting. Unsure of Lazarus’ intentions, Charles resolved to go armed, wary of potential treachery.
Midnight approached. The house was quiet, its occupants long retired, leaving Charles alone with his thoughts. He placed his loaded pistols into his pockets, ensuring they were within easy reach, then wrapped himself in a dark traveling cloak. The moon, though waning, cast a silvery light through the scattered clouds, illuminating the night with an eerie glow.
Charles’ room, situated on a lower floor, offered no view of the park where he was to meet Lazarus, obscured by a thick belt of trees. However, from the upper windows, one could see the pollard oak, standing as a silent sentinel in the moonlit landscape.
Above Charles, the old admiral paced restlessly in his room, plagued by thoughts of the upcoming duel. Unable to sleep, he dressed and drew back the heavy curtains to let in the moonlight. The view was breathtaking; the landscape bathed in a ghostly luminescence, the trees casting long shadows over the rolling dales. Even the admiral, a man who rarely appreciated such beauty, couldn’t help but admire the scene.
Charles, wishing to avoid any encounters, decided to leave through the balcony. He glanced at Flora’s portrait one last time and whispered, “For you, dear Flora, I face this night.” With that, he stepped onto the balcony, the cool night air brushing against his face.
Young and agile, Charles descended effortlessly, landing softly in the garden below. He moved quickly across the moonlit grass, unaware that the admiral, his white hair glowing in the moonlight, was watching from above. The slight noise of his landing caught the admiral’s attention. Recognizing his nephew, he decided against raising an alarm, sensing that Charles was on the brink of some important discovery.
The admiral watched from his window, his sharp eyes tracking Charles’ hurried movements. “He must have heard or seen something,” he thought, frustration seeping into his voice. “I wish I could join him, but from up here, I’m useless.”
Charles moved swiftly, his cloak billowing like dark wings behind him, his steps purposeful and unwavering. The admiral’s curiosity grew as he watched his nephew disappear among the trees bordering the flower gardens. “Where could he be going? Fully dressed and cloaked at this hour?”
Determined to uncover the mystery, the admiral left his room and descended the creaky stairs to where Henry kept watch. The dim light of a single candle flickered in the gloom as he entered the room, startling Henry.
“Admiral, what brings you here at this hour?” Henry asked, his voice hushed but tense.
“Charles has left the house,” the admiral replied, urgency tinging his words.
“Left the house? Are you certain?”
“Quite sure. I saw him cross the garden in the moonlight.”
Henry frowned, his mind racing. “Then he must have seen or heard something and decided to investigate alone rather than raise an alarm.”
“Exactly what I thought,” the admiral agreed. “I can show you which way he went. But first, let’s check his room to be sure.”
Together, they hurried to Charles’ room, the silence of the house pressing in on them. Upon arrival, they found the window wide open and the room empty.
“You see, I was right,” the admiral said.
Henry nodded, his gaze falling on the dressing table. “Look here,” he said, pointing. “Three letters, placed to catch the eye of the first person who enters.”
The admiral picked up one of the letters, examining the address. “To Admiral Bell,” he read aloud, astonished. “The deuce! Another to you, Henry, and the third to Flora. What on earth is going on?”
They exchanged letters, their hands shaking slightly. As they read in the flickering candlelight, a heavy silence settled over the room, like the weight of a tomb.
“Am I dreaming?” the admiral murmured, sinking into a chair, the letter clutched in his trembling hands.
“Is this possible?” Henry echoed, his voice thick with emotion as his letter slipped from his grasp to the floor.
“Damn it, what does yours say?” the admiral demanded, his voice rising in agitation.
“Read it—what does yours say?”
“I’m astonished. Read it,” Henry replied, his voice tinged with disbelief.
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The letters were exchanged, and each man read the other’s with the same breathless intensity they had given their own. Their faces mirrored each other in a tableau of shock and bewilderment.
Not to keep our readers in suspense, we transcribe the letters here.
The admiral’s letter read:
“MY DEAR UNCLE,
Of course, you will see the prudence of keeping this letter to yourself, but I have made up my mind to leave Bennett Hall.
Flora Bennett is not the person she was when I first knew and loved her. Since she has changed, and I have not, she cannot accuse me of fickleness.
I still love the Flora Bennett I first knew, but I cannot marry someone subject to the visitations of a vampire.
I have stayed here long enough to be convinced that this vampire business is no delusion. I am certain it is a fact, and after death, Flora will become one of these horrible existences.
I will write to you from the first large city on the continent where I stay. In the meantime, make any excuses you like at Bennett Hall. I advise you to leave as quickly as you can, and believe me, my dear uncle, yours truly,
CHARLES HOLLAND.”
Henry’s letter was as follows:
“MY DEAR SIR,
If you consider the painful and distressing circumstances your family is in, I am sure you will see that far from blaming me for the step I have taken, you will credit me with acting prudently and with foresight.
Had the supposed visits of the vampire to Flora turned out to be a delusion, I would have felt pride and pleasure in fulfilling my engagement to her.
However, the evidence supporting the belief that an actual vampire has visited Flora enforces a conviction of its truth.
I cannot marry her under such circumstances.
Perhaps you will blame me for not taking advantage of the permission to forego my engagement when I first came to your house. The fact is, I did not then believe in the existence of the vampire, but now I am convinced of that painful fact, I must decline the honor of an alliance I once looked forward to with satisfaction.
I shall be on the continent as soon as possible. If you have any romantic notions of calling me to account for my course of action, you will not find me.
Accept my respect for you and pity for your sister, and believe me to be, your sincere friend,
CHARLES HOLLAND.”
These letters left the admiral and Henry in stunned silence, doubting the evidence of their own senses. But there they were, irrefutable proof of the outrageous fact—Charles Holland was gone.
The admiral was the first to recover, his face contorting with rage. “The scoundrel! The cold-blooded villain! I renounce him forever! He is no nephew of mine; he is some damned imposter! No one with a dash of my family blood would act so to save himself from a thousand deaths.”
“Who can we trust now,” Henry said, his voice heavy with betrayal, “when those we take to our hearts deceive us? This is the greatest shock I have yet received. If there is a pang greater than any other, surely it is the faithlessness and heartlessness of one we loved and trusted.”
“He is a scoundrel!” roared the admiral. “Damn him, he’ll die on a dunghill, and that’s too good a place for him. I cast him off—I’ll find him out, and old as I am, I’ll fight him—I’ll wring his neck, the rascal. And as for poor dear Miss Flora, God bless her! I’ll—I’ll marry her myself and make her an admiral. I’ll marry her myself. Oh, that I should be uncle to such a rascal!”
“Calm yourself,” said Henry, his voice a gentle murmur in the dim light, “no one can blame you.”
“Yes, you can; I had no right to be his uncle, and I was an old fool to love him,” the admiral replied, his words heavy with sorrow.
The old man sat down heavily, his voice breaking with emotion as he continued, “I tell you, sir, I would have died willingly rather than see this happen. This will kill me now—I shall die of shame and grief.”
Tears gushed from the admiral’s eyes, the sight of his noble emotion doing much to quell the fire of Henry’s anger, which, though unspoken, boiled in his heart like a volcano.
“Admiral Bell,” Henry said, “you have nothing to do with this business. We cannot blame you for the heartlessness of another. I have but one favor to ask of you.”
“What—what can I do?” the admiral asked, his voice quivering.
“Say no more about him at all.”
“I can’t help saying something about him. You ought to turn me out of the house.”
“Heaven forbid! What for?”
“Because I’m his uncle—his damned old fool of an uncle who has always thought so much of him.”
“Nay, my good sir, that was a fault on the right side and cannot discredit you. I thought him the most perfect of human beings.”
“Oh, if I could but have guessed this.”
“It was impossible. Such duplicity never was equaled in this world—it was impossible to foresee it.”
“Hold—hold! Did he give you fifty pounds?”
“What?” Henry was taken aback.
“Did he give you fifty pounds?”
“Give me fifty pounds? Most decidedly not. What made you think of such a thing?”
“Because today he borrowed fifty pounds from me, he said, to lend to you.”
“I never heard of the transaction until this moment.”
“The villain!” the admiral exclaimed, his voice filled with rage.
“No doubt, sir, he wanted that amount to expedite his progress abroad.”
“Well, now, dammit, if an angel had come to me and said, ‘Hello, Admiral Bell, your nephew, Charles Holland, is a thundering rogue,’ I would have said, ‘You’re a liar!’”
“This is fighting against facts, my dear sir. He is gone—mention him no more; forget him, as I shall endeavor to do, and persuade my poor sister to do.”
“Poor girl! What can we say to her?”
“Nothing, but give her all the letters, and let her be immediately satisfied with the worthlessness of the man she loved.”
“That’s the best way. Her woman’s pride will then come to her aid.”
“I hope it will. She is of an honorable race, and I am sure she will not condescend to shed a tear for such a man as Charles Holland has proved himself to be.”
“Damn him, I’ll find him out and make him fight you. He shall give you satisfaction.”
“No, no,” Henry protested.
“No? But he shall.”
“I cannot fight him.”
“You cannot?”
“Certainly not. He is too far beneath me now. I cannot fight on honorable terms with someone I despise as too dishonorable to contend with. I have nothing now but silence and contempt.”
“I have though, for I’ll break his neck when I see him, or he shall break mine. The villain! I’m ashamed to stay here, my young friend.”
“How mistaken a view you take of this matter, my dear sir. As Admiral Bell, a gentleman, a brave officer, and a man of the purest and most unblemished honor, you confer a distinction upon us by your presence here.”
The admiral wrung Henry’s hand, his grip strong despite his emotion. “To-morrow—wait until tomorrow; we will talk over this matter tomorrow—I cannot tonight. I have no patience; but tomorrow, my dear boy, we will have it all out. God bless you. Good night.”