by Lucas Thorn
“Passed on, yes. She died when… Well. I’ll let Lucy tell it. If she’s able. I’m not sure I can. The very thought of this business has me hardly able to stop from running up to Whitby with my shotgun. If it weren’t for Lucy, I bloody well might.” He paused. “Look, I know how all this must be very difficult for you, Inspector. And I realise you came here only as a favour to Sir Harold. It must be most tiresome to feel as though you are about to hear a fable from a spoiled rich girl. But I only ask that you listen with a fair ear. Make up your own mind. And if my daughter’s story doesn’t make the hairs on your neck stand out, then you’re not the man I take you for.”
“Father?”
The policeman started in the act of pulling out his pocketwatch. He hadn’t heard anything. Not the swish of her dress. Nor the soft step of her shoes.
One second the doorway was empty, and the next it was filled with a woman so beautiful it made his aging heart do a quick leap within his chest.
He immediately understood why someone would want to possess her.
As the thought popped into his mind, she smiled. As if she could read his thoughts and was amused by them.
But that, he thought with a shake of his head, was as ridiculous as table-knocking.
“Lucy! Please, girl. Come inside. Look at you. You look freezing. Here. Take the seat by the fire, won’t you? This is Inspector Abberline. It was Abberline, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said. On his feet now and with a slight bow as the young woman took her seat. “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Westenra. Though, of course, I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances.”
“Thank you, Inspector,” she said. Looked at him with dark eyes which seemed to drink his soul. For a moment, he imagined she was crawling around inside his head, elegant fingers plucking at pieces of his brain like she were pulling apples from a tree.
He found himself flushing and hid it by looking around as though he’d lost his chair.
“Well,” he said. Not quite tongue-tied. “I, ah, suppose you know why I’m here.”
“The rumours. You want to find out if they’re true.”
He eased back down and placed the cane between his legs. A small comfort. Nodded. “Yes. You can imagine the attention they’re getting. I don’t mean to sound disbelieving, but it’s a fantastic story. And a diabolical one. I’m sure you understand the reluctance some have had in believing it. I was told there’s no police report. Did you speak to someone when it happened?”
“We were turned away, Inspector. We even came down to the station, and-”
“I understand perfectly why it’s difficult to believe,” she said, cutting off her father’s boiling retort. “You don’t need to explain, Inspector. If I were hearing it for the first time, I can say I wouldn’t believe it myself. Every day I sit in my room and I think about it. Over and over I run it through my head, you see. And I try to make sense of it all. It doesn’t seem real, even to me. And even though I know it’s true, I don’t want to believe it. I want it all to be a dream. A nightmare from my imagination.”
“Then, you’re saying it is true?”
“Well, I’m not sure what the rumours are saying, so perhaps it’s best if I tell you what happened to me. That way you aren’t influenced by gossip, which has its way of becoming quite exaggerated.”
He liked the logic of that and couldn’t hide the small twitch of a smile. “I think that would be best.”
“I need to let you know in advance that there’s not much I can give you as evidence for what happened. I can only give you my word that everything I tell you happened exactly as I describe. I won’t embellish it. I will give you only the facts. It will be up to you to tell us what you can do with them.”
Abberline relaxed.
The woman’s voice seemed to soothe him. Everything she said appealed to him.
He’d come to the Westenra house expecting a distraught and hysterical girl. Instead, she seemed the most reasonable witness he’d ever been lucky enough to interview. And one of the most composed.
His smile was one of professional pleasure as he rolled the brandy glass in his hand and took a sip. Tucked his pocketwatch away and lightly tapped the cane’s silver head. “I suggest you start at the beginning,” he said. “Or, as much at the beginning as you think is relevant.”
“Then I’ll start with the day Arthur asked me to marry him. We were staying with a friend of mine, Mina Murray. She had just gotten engaged to be married, so she wanted to spend a weekend together. Some of her other friends were there, including Doctor Seward. Although, he was only there as he was a friend of her father’s.”
“But you had met Doctor Seward before that day?”
“Oh, yes. He was often at dinners. Mina’s parents liked to have parties, Inspector. I don’t usually like to go to such things, but it can be exciting to get dressed up for an evening and Mina did like the company.” She looked away for a moment, then back. “There was a lot of dancing that night. I even danced with Doctor Seward, though my mind was on Arthur. I had a feeling he was going to ask me to marry him, and he did. He proposed in front of everyone. I’m afraid I went bright red, and everyone had a good laugh.”
“How did Doctor Seward react at the time?”
“He didn’t. Not at first. I mean, I didn’t notice because we weren’t very well acquainted. But I think that’s where I first noticed him being odd.”
“How so?”
“Well, there was a gentleman staying near to Mina. At Carthage. Do you know of it?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“He became a friend of Mina’s very quickly. Her parents thought much of him, too. He joined us for dinner that night. Then congratulated Arthur and I on our engagement. He was most charming about it.” She had to resist drooping in her chair at thought of him. “But John took instant dislike to him. Especially when he kissed my hand.”
“He kissed your hand?”
“He was a foreigner. From Europe. Even Arthur didn’t mind the kiss. It was just a gesture, after all. And nothing was meant by it. But John seemed spiteful for the rest of the evening and was very loud about how he didn’t like his foreign ways. The gentleman left early. He told me it was because he hated parties, but I’m sure it was because he felt awkward by John’s comments. We all did, really. In hindsight, I believe John was simply taking out his jealousy on the poor man.”
“Because of your engagement?”
“Yes. Mina thought it was because he’d had too much to drink, of course. We never thought about it after that.” She looked down at her hands which were clasped in her lap. “I spent the next few days with Arthur. We went for picnics and walks. We talked a lot about the wedding. I hardly saw John.”
“But, something happened?”
“A few days later, I began to feel ill. At first, I thought it was simply a chill. We both dismissed it. I mean, we had been doing a lot of walking. Sometimes late into the evening. But it got worse. My bones, Inspector. They ached. I could hardly walk. John offered to help, and Arthur thought it was very kind of him. He kept bringing tonics. Horrible tasting muck. But he insisted. And Arthur trusted him. Except, I got worse. So, John said he would ask a friend of his for another opinion and that’s when the German arrived.”
“Van Helsing?”
“Yes. I didn’t like him.” She stuck out her chin. “Not even a little bit. He had cold eyes, Inspector. And he looked at me like, well, like some kind of experiment. I don’t believe he ever saw me as a real person at all. He would talk about me in front of the others as if I wasn’t even there. I didn’t like it at all. He gave me even more tonics. Then started putting flowers around my room.”
“Flowers?”
“Yes. They put them everywhere. In the curtains over the window. In vases on the floor. Even under my pillow and between the blankets. Strangely, he put a crucifix above my bed.”
“Well.” The policeman looked to the elderly Westenra. “I’m not a very religious man myself, but I
hear it can comfort those who are.”
“Well, I’m not that way inclined,” she said. “But he seemed obsessed with it. He kept forcing me to wear one, too. He’d hold one in his hands whenever he came near me and would press it to my forehead. I felt like I was in the middle of a bizarre ritual and not getting proper help at all. I was very unsettled, Inspector. It was so very odd. When I told Arthur about it, they told him I was imagining things. They said I had a fever and the only cure for it was to cover me in crosses and foul-smelling weeds. I haven’t been able to look at a crucifix since. Just the thought of them makes me want to scream. You see, I didn’t like what was happening. I mean, the German was supposed to be a scientist, but he acted more like a priest than anything. And I know I would much have preferred an actual medical doctor. Arthur told them I was demanding a real doctor. After that, they stopped him from coming to my room. Then John spent far too much time in the corner. On a chair much like this. Watching me sleep. When it wasn’t him, it was the German. Never Arthur. I wrote to my mother in secret and one of the maids smuggled it out for me. I was so afraid they’d find out.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes. They didn’t want me to communicate with anyone. That’s why I was afraid. Terrified at what they’d do if they found out I was trying to send messages.”
“My wife went immediately,” Westenra said. “Packed up and was out the house like a lightning bolt, she was.”
“She didn’t like Van Helsing either,” Lucy said. Scowling. “And she said the flowers were poisonous.”
“Poisonous?”
“She was interested in botany, Inspector,” Mister Westenra said. “She loved her garden. She collected a good many books on the subject. And read them. She could point out any plant you like and tell you everything you’d ever want to know about them. We couldn’t go anywhere without her wanting to stop and pluck some leaf or flower. Used to irritate me sometimes, but now I miss it very much.”
“I see.” He made a small note. “Do you know what kind of flowers they were, Lucy?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But she took them all away and threw them outside. I could breathe a lot better when they were gone. But then I heard her arguing with them that night, while I slept. She wanted to bring me home. She wanted to have our doctor examine me. But they wouldn’t let her. Arthur took their side. I don’t think he wanted to, but they were very firm with him and he never liked confrontation. She called Arthur a spineless old fool.”
“Fierce woman, my wife,” Westenra said. He pressed fingers to his eyes. Mumbled; “Lord, I wish she was here. She’d know what to do.”
Lucy’s gaze never shifted from Abberline. “Van Helsing shouted at her. So loud! He said I shouldn’t be moved under any circumstance. Naturally, John agreed. He told her he’d never let me out of the house. For my own good, of course.”
“And what did she do?”
“She said there was nothing he could do to stop her and she was going to go to the police if they didn’t get out of her way. I heard noises, then. Perhaps a scuffle.” Lucy looked up at him. Eyes steady. Jaw tight. “I never saw her again, Inspector. It was much later when I found out she’d died. Died while I lay in my bed that night. The sounds I’d heard. That was when they strangled her. I know it. I heard the maid whispering about bruises on my mother’s neck. The next morning, Doctor Seward gave me something. I don’t know what it was, but I couldn’t move after I took it. I mean, I could see and hear everything happening around me, but I couldn’t move! It was the most terrifying experience I’ve ever had.”
“You were paralysed, you mean?”
“Arthur wept for me. And he put his head on my shoulder right here. He cried and cried like a child. And they said nothing. Nothing at all. When he was gone, Doctor Seward told me he was sorry. Said he loved me, you see. That’s why he was doing it. As if it excused everything.”
“Then what?”
“I died.”
CHAPTER NINE
“They had a funeral. They put me in a casket. And my father. I saw him come to me. He kissed my cheek.”
“I stood by her coffin, Inspector. And, like a fool, I listened to them tell me what a tragedy it all was. A wife and child in a single day. They told me my wife had died of shock. Shock, if you believe it!” His shoulders slumped. “But who doesn’t believe doctors and learned men? They told me in very precise manners what they supposed I needed to hear. And then they let me bury my wife thinking she’d died of grief. And I thought Lucy… What kind of man would trick another into believing their child was dead? I ask you, Inspector. What sort of man could do such a thing?”
“I don’t know, Mister Westenra,” he said. His eyes hadn’t moved far from Lucy. Her delicate shoulders seemed to sink a little. She looked fragile and hurt.
He suddenly wanted to see Van Helsing and Doctor Seward.
See them hanged.
She cleared her throat before speaking again. “When I saw my father, I wanted to scream at him. I tried! I tried so hard to scream, but I couldn’t move. I’m not even sure how I managed to breathe. It felt like each breath took an hour to draw. An hour to exhale. I couldn’t do anything at all. Oh, Inspector. You can’t know what that was like, and I have no way of sharing with you the true horror I was feeling.”
Abberline tried to imagine, which in turn left his stomach to churn with sickened rage.
He shook his head, forcing his anger to settle.
His cases had been getting to him. Every day, it seemed, London wanted to bring yet more inhuman crime to his door. He drew a long breath before speaking.
“You said they put you in a cell. Was it at his home? Or in the sanitorium?”
“The sanitorium. I woke on a bed. There was a nurse. She insisted on calling me Sally. Sally! That’s not my name, I said. But John told them I was sick, and they believed him. They thought I was experiencing delusions. The nurse was kind, but she wasn’t supposed to talk to me. His orders, you see. He told her it was so they didn’t upset me. At first, I tried so hard to make them understand, but they refused. Eventually, I said nothing at all. What point are words, when nobody listens?”
“And he came to see you? The Doctor, I mean?”
“Yes. Every night. Sometimes he brought Van Helsing with him. His beady eyes staring at me through the bars. I shudder just thinking about it. Horrible little man. Simply horrible. There’s something broken inside his soul, Inspector. It’s left him bereft of even the faintest breath of humanity.”
“Did they…?” He flushed. Shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry to ask, Miss Westenra. It must be difficult. But I do need to know…”
She gave him a direct look. “Don’t worry, Inspector. I already told my father it didn’t happen. He may have touched me a little while I slept or was drugged. But I believe the rape was to come after.”
“After?”
“They were occultists. They belong to a secret society of men who thought themselves to be delving into an unexplored world of hidden knowledge. Did you know that?”
“I’ve heard of Van Helsing in those circles,” he said. Put the glass aside. “Far beyond me, I’m afraid. But he certainly had that kind of air about him when he gave his speech.”
“Speech?”
“Yes. As I was telling your father, he was considered something of an expert in many fields. It was thought by Lord Salisbury that a few of us in Public Service might put Van Helsing’s theories to some more practical use.”
“And did you?”
“I’m afraid they went far over my head, Miss Westenra.” He forced a little smile. “I’m not one to believe that kind of thing. Spooks under the bed? Smacks too much of the old nixies and goblins my grandmother used to talk about.”
“I didn’t believe in it at all,” she said. “My mother loved to see the shows, though. She believed in spiritualists. But this was something much darker. And, whether we believe it or not, they do. They believe it completely. I fear they were waiting to use
me for one of their rituals. They had this fantasy, you see. A fantasy that I was somehow not of this world. That they were justified in what they were doing by the fact that I had apparently risen from the dead. From the dead! Can you even fathom that? I was drugged, Inspector. Not deceased. Adding to that, John seemed to think my having chosen Arthur was also proof of demonic possession. Absurd. It was just a story he told himself because I hadn’t wanted to marry him.”
“That’s often the case,” he said absently. “With those who are too deep in the criminality of their life. They see themselves as the victim. In their victims they find imagined slights and these slights become vast and insurmountable. It would be easy, I think, for someone with a background such as Van Helsing’s to influence those insecurities to suit his own purpose.”
Her eyes flew open. “That’s exactly what it was like! When Van Helsing was around, John acted like a puppet in street play. He did everything the German wanted. Absolutely everything. I believe he’d bark like a dog if he was told to do so.”
“The worst deeds, I think, are committed by men without the moral strength to refuse their master.”
“They have definitely done worse than you think. So much worse. Half of what I saw would threaten your sanity.” Her lips pursed as she forbid a smile. “John’s resentment for Arthur was strong, Inspector. And I believe Van Helsing despaired of controlling him.”
“He tried?”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure every time he looked at him, he salivated. No doubt thinking of his estates. Imagine if he could get his hands on the Holmwood fortune? And there I was. Practically walking in and sweeping it all away from him. Arthur listened to me, you see. He was good to me, and I could see myself happily by his side for the rest of my life. And, with me not being interested in anything Van Helsing had to say, it’s no wonder he encouraged John’s obsession.” She looked to the closed curtains. “I believe they murdered him, Inspector. They made up a story which they told Lord Holmwood. That Arthur had gone to Europe. A last minute journey, they said. Made out of grief. A vacation to ease his grieving soul. But I don’t believe them. John could never look me in the eye when he spoke about Arthur. He had the gaze of a guilty man. I do believe something awful happened. And to the foreigner, too.”
