European Travel for the Monstrous Gentlewoman

by Theodora Goss

  DIANA: Is that a compliment? Because I think that’s actually a compliment.

  “In this case, a pistol will be the least effective weapon,” said Mina, who had evidently just come through the door—without the wolfdog, this time. “Even a knife can do more damage. And remember that the conference will be filled with members of the Société des Alchimistes. We will be in crowded rooms, where shooting off a pistol can be particularly unwise. We want to prevent a bloodbath, not create one. Your goal is not to kill—which would be difficult anyway. Beatrice, can you demonstrate the restraints?”

  Beatrice nodded. She lifted one of the cables off the table. It had some sort of locking mechanism attached. “These were provided by the Count. Apparently, they can restrain vampires.”

  “Or at least that’s the theory,” said Mina. “They’re made of the same material as the cables for the funicular up Castle Hill. Vlad himself will carry them in a rucksack. Restraining the vampires will be his responsibility. We can talk later about which weapons each of you prefers to use. Does anyone have questions?”

  “Where’s Hoho?” asked Diana.

  “Being bathed by Attila, who will hopefully get a little cleaner as well. Now, unless you want to dine on chloroform and paprika spray, I suggest we move all these items to the sideboard. I’ve ordered an early dinner—you’ve all been running around today, and I suspect you’re hungry. There’s nothing more we can do until tomorrow, when the Academy of Sciences will be completely empty and we can ‘case the joint,’ as they say in America. In the meantime, I suggest we talk about something else. We need to take our minds off this, at least for a little while, or we’ll all go mad, like Lucinda!”

  Mary was relieved to talk of other things for a while. Over dinner, which was excellent, as were all the meals in Count Dracula’s house—ironically, since the host himself did not eat—Catherine described the various circus performers and their acts, including Madam Zora, the Zulu Prince, and Sasha the Dog Boy. They speculated about why Sasha might have taken Irene Norton’s telegram. Had the Société des Alchimistes bribed him to steal it, or was he perhaps being blackmailed, and if so, with what? Catherine pointed out that the circus must be performing in Vienna right now—it would be close to the end of the Saturday evening show. Justine said she sometimes missed being the Giantess, and Beatrice admitted she had enjoyed her time as a circus performer. Catherine started teasing Beatrice about Clarence, but Mary stopped her—the Poisonous Girl was looking distinctly uncomfortable. Beatrice changed the subject to Irene Norton’s apartment, which was the most elegant she had ever seen, and how she proposed to redecorate the parlor when they got home to Park Terrace. Justine mentioned that she would like to paint the Styrian countryside, if they could see it again when they were not fleeing Mr. Hyde. Carmilla invited her to visit the schloss at any time and described various Hungarian superstitions about vampires that still survived in rural districts. Catherine asked if she knew anything more about mesmerism—how was it that Alice could make herself disappear, or seem to? Diana was fascinated by Beatrice’s description of Archibald. “I bet he’s more fun than the lot of you,” she said.

  When dinner was brought in—a sort of fried noodle that Mina called krumplis nudli, with bean soup and cucumber salad, ham hocks for Catherine and a linden flower tisane for Beatrice—Mina asked the footman to turn up the gas, as it was beginning to get dark. After eating more than her share of nudli, Diana stood up, told them she was bored to death, and left to go see whether Hoho had recovered from her bath. Mary stopped her from taking one of the pistols on the sideboard on her way out. The girl was an incorrigible thief!

  Only Mina was quiet. Mary looked at her inquisitively, but Mina just smiled and offered her a second helping of soup. Mary herself would have enjoyed dinner more if she were not so worried about Mr. Holmes. Where had he gone, and was he back with Dr. Watson yet? She kept telling herself there was nothing she could do about the situation, so there was no use worrying. Instead, she tried to focus on the conversation—so comfortable, so ordinary, as though they were back in the Athena Club! But she could not keep from wondering what was happening at 221B Baker Street.

  Just as they were finishing their dinners, Kati poked her head in the doorway and said something to Mina that included the words “Katrin Moreau.”

  Mina looked puzzled. “Catherine, Kati says there’s someone here to see you. He won’t come in—he’s waiting for you outside. He says it will only take a moment, and that you know him from the island?”

  Catherine dropped her fork. It clattered loudly on the plate.

  “What is it?” asked Mina sharply.

  “Edward Prendick,” said Beatrice. “Cat, are you all right?”

  Catherine stared at her plate for a moment. Then she pushed her chair back and rose. “All right,” she said. “I’ll go talk to him.”

  MARY: Yes, you do have to write about this! You wrote about all the difficult, embarrassing things that happened to the rest of us. You wrote about my conversation with Hyde. You wrote about Justine and Adam. You wrote about Beatrice and Clarence. And Diana—well, Diana doesn’t get embarrassed about anything, so that doesn’t count. It’s not fair if you don’t write about yourself in the same way.

  CATHERINE: I wrote about what an idiot I was, thinking Zora had stolen the telegram. Wasn’t that embarrassing enough for you?

  JUSTINE: But your conversation with Prendick was important—not only because of the information he provided, but also because of how it affected you. Catherine, this is not simply a story of our adventures. It’s a story about us—our emotions and relationships. Without that, it would indeed be like one of your Astarte books.

  CATHERINE: There’s nothing wrong with my Astarte books!

  DIANA: Except that Rick Chambers is kind of stupid.

  Prendick was waiting for her in the carriage entrance. In the light of the gas lamp by the front door, he looked just as he had on the train—like himself, but more tired, perhaps older. It was not only his hair that had turned gray. He himself had turned gray, as though he were slowly turning into a ghost.

  “Catherine,” he said. “As soon as Van Helsing mentioned Count Dracula, I knew where I could find you. They don’t know I’m here. I know you don’t want to see me. I know you probably never want to talk to me again, but I had to warn you. Please, please stay away from this fight. You don’t know what forces you’re up against.”

  Catherine raised her hand, as though to stop him, but he took it and held it to his chest, just over his heart. “I know you hate me, I know you will always hate me for abandoning you on the island. But please listen.”

  “I don’t hate you,” she said. That was not entirely true, but she did not want to admit how she felt. It allowed him too much power over her. She had loved him once, and that had allowed him too much power over her as well. She had learned her lesson. “I despise you as a coward,” she said. That was not entirely true either.

  “Despise me all you want,” he said, with a sort of quiet desperation. “It can’t be more than I despise myself. I will tell you one thing, however. I never meant to leave you and survive—when I stepped onto the raft I had built, I believed I was going to my death. I was saved only by chance. When I saw you again in London—”

  “Where you were creating Beast Men, like Moreau!”

  “Catherine, believe me, I never would have done so if they had not forced me.”

  She stared at his thin, drawn face. She would not pity him—no, she would not. “You made a choice. You chose to become one of the Masters with the whips. You chose to leave Archibald—the Orangutan Man—chained up in a cellar.”

  He looked startled. “How did you know—”

  “What do you want, Edward? Why have you come here?”

  “To dissuade you from entering this fight.” He held her hand, which was still on his chest, with both of his. “My love . . .”

  She pulled it away. “Nothing you say will either persuade or dissuade me�
�not in this or any other matter.”

  “Then, I wanted to give you this.” Out of his breast pocket, he pulled a piece of paper. “I wrote it all down in case you would not see me. Please, Catherine. Be careful.”

  Reluctantly, she took the piece of paper he was holding out. Without a word, with only a final look at her, like a man seeing land for the last time, he turned and disappeared into the dark street.

  Catherine stared into the darkness after him. Then, she unfolded the piece of paper and read what was written on it in his spiky handwriting, which she recognized from long ago on the island, when he had taught her to write. It was a detailed description of Van Helsing’s plans.

  CHAPTER XXV

  A Meeting of the Society

  The next morning, at breakfast, Mary was startled to see Laura come into the dining room with Lucinda on her arm. Lucinda was dressed! And out of bed! Well, that was a positive development.

  “How is our patient this morning?” asked the Count, rising and bowing. He was as courteous as ever, but Mary could tell that he was surprised and concerned.

  Mina rose and went to her. “Are you all right, my dear? I’m very pleased to see you up this morning. That is, if you’re not tiring yourself out.”

  “She’s been doing much better,” said Laura. “This morning she heard the church bells and said that she wanted to go to church. At least, I think that’s what she meant.”

  “I wish to sing in the heavenly choir,” said Lucinda, looking at them all with great sincerity. “I wish to join my voice with the angels and archangels.”

  “There’s a Catholic church on Kecskeméti utca, only a few blocks from here,” said Mina. “I’m afraid this is a household of nonbelievers—neither Vlad nor Carmilla attend mass. I don’t suppose some of you—”

  “I shall take her,” said Justine. “It has been several weeks since I have attended mass—not since we left London. I would like to go.”

  “As would I,” said Beatrice. “Justine and I can take her. That is, if she’s strong enough?”

  “If she begins to feel unwell, I can always carry her back,” said Justine.

  “I don’t suppose there’s a Church of England in Budapest,” said Mary, smiling. “I would like to go to church as well, but I don’t think the Archbishop of Canterbury holds sway here.”

  “What about a Calvinist service, if you don’t mind that it’s nonconformist?” asked Mina. “There’s a church in Kálvin tér where Laura goes sometimes. We could take you and Diana to a service there. Of course, it will be in Hungarian. . . .”

  Mary did not mind. Diana did, but then she would have disliked being dragged to any blasted church service, as she told Mary. Still, Mary insisted that it was for her own good. With Mina there, Diana actually behaved herself instead of making faces or kicking the pew in front of her. Laura translated the Hungarian sermon as best she could—she said her Hungarian was not particularly fluent, since she had grown up in the Austrian part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. “My French and German are all right,” she said, “but for Hungarian you really need Carmilla!”

  When they returned, Mary was startled to hear music floating down the stairs. Was that the harpsichord in the music room?

  Suddenly, Mina gripped her by the arm. “Oh, thank goodness. That’s a good sign. Come on, I want to see—”

  See what? What was a good sign? Mina was almost running up the stairs. Mary looked at Laura, who seemed just as surprised as she was. “I’ve never heard anyone play that instrument,” said Laura. “I didn’t even know it was in tune.”

  It wasn’t, completely—but the music that floated down from the second floor was melodious, despite a few sour notes.

  Mary entered the music room just behind Mina. There was Lucinda, sitting on the harpsichord bench, playing as though her life depended on it, with her fingers dancing across the keys, her hair in wild curls around her head. Beatrice and Justine were standing by the harpsichord, listening to her performance.

  “She asked to come up here as soon as we returned,” said Beatrice. “Apparently, she had seen the instrument earlier, when passing this room.”

  “Lucinda,” said Mina, kneeling by the bench, “my dear, are you all right?”

  Lucinda’s fingers crashed on the keyboard. She turned on the bench, and Mary could see that there were tears streaming down her face.

  “Mijn moeder!” she said. “Mijn moeder is dood.” Mina sat on the bench and put her arms around Lucinda. The girl sobbed on her shoulder as though her heart were broken, which it probably was. But why now? Lucinda had not cried about her mother’s death since that day in Irene’s apartment. She had been so far gone in her madness. . . .

  Slowly, her sobbing grew quieter. She looked up from Mina’s shoulder. “Where am I, Wilhelmina?” she said. “What is this place? I remember a castle in the forest, where I was pierced by thorns. But no, that is a fairy tale. Am I still in Vienna?”

  “You’re in Budapest, with me,” said Mina, stroking her hair. “How much do you remember of what happened?”

  Lucinda shook her head. “Dreams. Nightmares. The shadows came for me. They brought me to the dungeon where the king had imprisoned my mother. No—that is a fairy tale again. My mother—” Tears still ran down her face. “But I remember—her. She gave me blood.” She pointed at Mary. “And her.” Now she was pointing at the door, and there stood Diana, lagging behind at usual. “She burned the castle to the ground and set me free.”

  “Something like that,” said Diana. “Is she—is she sane again?”

  “Hush!” said Mary, scowling at her.

  “How did this happen?” Mina asked, looking at Beatrice and then Justine. “How did Lucinda regain—well, her composure, let us say.”

  “The organ started playing,” said Justine. “And the choir sang—young boys with voices like angels. Then suddenly, I felt her gripping my hand. She looked at me, and for the first time I could tell that she truly saw me. I would say it was a miracle, but I believe it was the music.”

  “Lucinda has always been a gifted musician,” said Mina. “She studied with a famous composer in Amsterdam, and her mother thought that someday she might be a pianist. Perhaps the music reminded her of who she was and brought her out of her dreams.” She turned to Lucinda again. “My dear, forgive me for asking you this, but do you remember anything about your father? About his experiments?”

  Lucinda put her hands over her eyes, and for a moment Mary thought she was not going to answer. Then, she said, “He took my blood. And he—with the needles, I do not know the word in English. He put blood into me, blood that he said would change me, make me stronger. Make me live forever. But I could feel the shadows gathering around me, in my mind. I was lost in the dark forest. . . .”

  Mina put her hand on Lucinda’s arm. “Do you think you could describe this—to other people? Quite a lot of other people? At a very large meeting.”

  Lucinda looked at her with wide, frightened eyes.

  “Surely we can’t subject her to such an ordeal,” said Mary. Lucinda looked so young, so vulnerable. “She has just regained her—well, composure was the word you used. Would bringing her to the meeting of the Alchemical Society endanger it again? Could she sink back into—you know.”

  “Looniness,” said Diana.

  “Mary’s right,” said Laura. “You can’t possibly expect her to appear in front of all those people, not in this state. Can’t we do it some other way?”

  “No, we can’t.” Mina’s voice was unexpectedly sharp. “This is why you brought her here. Presenting her to the general meeting was the whole point. When Van Helsing killed Lucy, he destroyed the evidence of his crimes. He will never be brought to account for her death. But Lucinda is the evidence—the marks of transfusions on her arms, her vampiric madness. We need the members—and Ayesha—not only to hear, but also to see what Van Helsing has been doing. Now that she is once again—well, not entirely herself, but more so, Lucinda can tell her own story. That will
be even more powerful than if I were telling it. Mr. Prendick has informed us what he is planning. If she could speak as soon as Van Helsing makes his motion, I think it would have the greatest effect. Lucinda, can you do that? You will help save other girls who might suffer the same fate and stop your father from committing atrocities.”

  This was a Mina that Mary had never seen, the Mina employed by the Royal Society as a spy, for purposes she still did not entirely understand. The Mina whose primary concern was stopping Van Helsing, no matter the cost. Would she ever be able to think of her as Miss Murray again? She felt sick at heart.

  She was still feeling dispirited later that afternoon, when they broke in to the Hungarian Academy of Sciences.

  DIANA: I was the one who broke in. I picked the lock, just like I rescued Lucinda. At least she gave me credit!

  CATHERINE: You got us in, then Mary made a map while you wandered around aimlessly, looking at the paintings, making fun of the men in wigs. Beatrice formed plans for the contingent up in the balcony, while Justine and I planned for those of us on the floor of the meeting room. So I think the credit goes to all of us.

  The Academy was as impressive on the inside as it was outside. There was the great hall where the meeting itself would take place, the grand staircase leading up to the second floor, the balcony where observers could watch what was happening below. Tomorrow, the hallways would be filled with members of the Alchemical Society, the conference rooms with scientists giving papers. How many of their projects, Mary wondered, would involve some form of biological transmutation? And . . . had her father ever given a paper on her or Diana? Somewhere, there must be copies of papers by Rappaccini, Moreau . . . even Frankenstein. She wondered what they would say.

  When they returned to the house on Múzeum utca, Mina said, “This evening, I want all of you to get some rest. Do something to take your mind off the Société des Alchimistes. You’ll be sharper and more ready tomorrow for having rested.”