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Lazarus’s sudden movement was as unexpected as it was decisive. Henry had assumed that by guarding the only entrance to the summer house, he would force a confrontation with the being who had brought so much suffering to his family. The idea that Lazarus might create a new exit for himself had never crossed his mind.
“For Heaven’s sake, Flora,” he said, trying to disentangle himself from her grasp, “let go of me; this is a time for action.”
“But, Henry, please, listen to me,” Flora pleaded, her eyes wide with desperation.
“Later, Flora, later,” he insisted, shaking her off with as much gentleness as his urgency allowed. “I must stop Lazarus.”
Henry leapt through the same shattered aperture Lazarus had used to escape, just as George and Mr. O’Hara arrived at the summer house’s door.
The sky was lightening with the first rays of dawn, casting a pale glow over the fields. When Henry reached a vantage point that offered an extensive view, he paused, scanning the landscape for any sign of the fleeing vampire. He saw nothing, heard nothing of Lazarus. Frustrated, he called out loudly for George to join him, and his brother quickly appeared with O’Hara at his side.
Before they could exchange words, a volley of gunfire erupted from one of the mansion’s windows. They heard the admiral shouting, “Broadside to broadside! Hit them between wind and water, Jack!” Another round of shots followed, and Henry exclaimed, “What is happening?”
“It’s coming from the admiral’s room,” O’Hara said. “I think he’s gone mad. He’s lined up six or eight pistols along the window-sill, all loaded, and he’s firing them as a volley, thinking it’s the only way to deal with the vampire.”
“Yes,” George added, “he must have heard an alarm and started shooting.”
“Let him be,” Henry said. “I’ve chased Lazarus this far, and I believe he’s fled into the woods again. Let’s use the remaining darkness to find his hiding place. We know these woods as well as he does. I propose we start searching immediately.”
“Agreed,” O’Hara said. “We’re all armed, and I won’t hesitate to kill him if I can.”
“Do you doubt that possibility?” George asked as they hurried across the meadows.
“I do,” O’Hara replied. “When I shot at him before, I’m sure I hit him. And Flora must have shot him as well when she defended herself with your pistols, Henry.”
“It seems so,” Henry said, determination in his voice. “Regardless, if I meet him again, I’ll find out if he is mortal or not.”
The distance to the woods was not great, and they soon reached its edge. They agreed to split up and meet at a familiar well-spring within the forest, each making their best effort to find anyone hiding among the bushes or in the hollows of the ancient trees.
Earlier that night, Henry had been restless, tossing and turning in bed. The anxiety gnawing at him made sleep impossible, so he had risen and decided to walk in the mansion’s gardens. It had become a custom for him and his brother to occasionally check on Flora, who, after changing rooms and no longer having someone stay with her, requested periodic visits from a family member.
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After dressing quickly, Henry had intended to tap on Flora’s door but found it ajar. Entering hastily, he saw the bed was empty. Alarmed, he armed himself and roused O’Hara and George, but without waiting for them, he had rushed to the garden, hoping to find Flora there.
This was how he had stumbled upon the eerie conversation between Lazarus and Flora in the summer house. The readers know what transpired next, with Henry determined to end the vampire's reign of terror.
Flora had assured George she would return promptly to the house. But as she stood alone, the events of the night left her agitated and weak, her fingers clinging to the trellis of the little building before she could muster the strength to make her way back to the mansion.
Minutes slipped by in a haze of confusion until a faint sound drew her attention. Through the gap in the wall, Lazarus reappeared, his demeanor composed despite the chaos he had wrought.
“Flora,” he said, continuing their interrupted conversation, “I believe this meeting will bring you solace.”
“Good Heavens!” Flora gasped, “how did you return?”
“I never left,” Lazarus replied calmly.
“But I saw you flee from here.”
“I did, but only to another spot nearby. I had no intention of ending our discussion so abruptly.”
“Is there anything more to add?” Flora asked. “Do you have answers to the questions weighing on my mind?”
“Unless you have inquiries of your own,” Lazarus said, “I believe we’ve covered the crucial points. But surely, Flora, there’s another burden on your heart besides my dreadful visit.”
“Yes,” Flora nodded, her voice trembling, “what happened to Charles Holland?”
“Listen,” Lazarus spoke with assurance, “keep hope alive. You will meet him again, far from this place.”
“But he’s gone,” Flora protested.
“And yet, when you reunite, he will explain himself in a way that will restore your trust in him.”
“Oh, joy!” Flora’s eyes lit up. “Your words ease my pain and make up for all the suffering.”
“Farewell,” Lazarus said, preparing to depart by a different path than his pursuers. “After this, there should be no danger. You will be safe, and I will be free from your brother’s vengeance.”
“Goodbye,” Flora whispered, watching him vanish into the foliage. She sank to her knees, offering a heartfelt prayer for her changed fate. A flicker of color returned to her cheeks as she regained her strength, walking back to the house with newfound energy, shedding the weight of her recent turmoil.
The search for Lazarus in the woods proved fruitless as morning broke, casting a golden glow on Bennett Hall. Henry, frustrated, declared his resolve to confront the vampyre in mortal combat, willing to sacrifice himself to rid the world of such a monstrous presence.
“Let’s hope for another solution,” O’Hara suggested.
“But what other choice do we have?” Henry countered. “Lazarus has marked us as his prey.”
“Indeed,” George agreed, determination in his voice. “But he will find us unyielding. We won’t succumb easily. I, for one, will dedicate myself to this cause until he falls or I do.”
The resolve in Henry’s words echoed their collective determination to confront the darkness that had descended upon their lives, setting the stage for a battle of wills that would test their courage and resilience.
“Well said,” O’Hara nodded, “yet I hope circumstances will intervene to avoid the need for such drastic action. Perhaps you’ll see the wisdom in a gentler, safer approach.”
“You can’t fully grasp our feelings,” Henry retorted. “You watch from the sidelines, sympathizing, but not feeling the full weight of our grief.”
“Don’t doubt my empathy,” O’Hara countered. “I’ve grown to care deeply for your family, finding solace in our shared history. My advice comes from experience, not cowardice. I urge peace and gentle means not out of weakness, but from a seasoned perspective.”
“We appreciate your concern,” Henry acknowledged, “but this demands action. We can’t tolerate being oppressed by someone like Lazarus.”
“Let Flora guide us,” O’Hara suggested. “She’s suffered the most and has a keen sense of what’s needed. Trust her judgment.”
“We’ll follow her lead,” Henry agreed. “But we must find out why she was with Lazarus in that summer-house at such an odd hour.”
The trio walked back to the house, continuing their conversation along similar lines, their minds focused on unraveling the mysteries that had gripped their lives.