Dracul

by Dacre Stoker

  “I witnessed crimes far too gruesome to detail in the company of a lady, and I encountered creatures previously thought to exist only in the nightmares of children. I met kings with the brain capacity of a pea, and politicians with more skeletons in their closets than an undertaker’s wife. I have spied on governments and men for other governments and men, and I have been compensated well for doing so. I have seen many things in this world and yet I know there are far more things to see than I ever will see; I embrace each day knowing this and hope to glean something new every day.” He leaned in closer, taking a sip of his tea. “I tell you all this not to impress you but to comfort you. There are no secrets here, nothing you should feel you cannot tell me, for I have full confidence that anything we share will remain between these walls and venture to no one else.” He placed his teacup on the table and leaned back in his chair. “I confessed to murder here in the presence of the three of you. Now each of you must confess a secret here in turn, something you would normally never disclose to another living soul, something that can be held by the rest of us as a key, of sorts, a key to a lock that binds us together from now until the end of our days, for to reveal one of these secrets to another party would open the door to revealing all our secrets.”

  Such pacts were common in the Hellfire Club, and I had heard Vambéry’s speech before. Although, I must admit, the last time he confessed to only six murders in total.

  I turned to Bram and Matilda. “When I was attending medical school, three other students and I dug up the recently deceased remains of one Herman Hortwhither and transported his body to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Dublin for study. There we spent three days dissecting the poor man, first in an effort to ascertain how he had died, then to study his internal workings. We attempted to do so with the utmost respect and skill, but since this was our first dissection, we failed miserably at both. Frankly, we made an undignified mess of Mr. Hortwhither. Upon completion of our ill-conceived task, his death remained a mystery to us, and although the study of his organs proved insightful, it only left us with more questions. The following weekend, we returned to the cemetery and disinterred the body of one Lily Butler, a local prostitute who died at the age of sixteen from causes unknown. We brought her back to the same warehouse and went about dissecting her as well, this time with steadier hands than our first venture. Sad to say, these forays were conducted for the better part of a year. But we had little choice; the Royal College of Surgeons made few cadavers available, supplying only one for every thirty or so students, and without these additional opportunities for study, learning my craft would have been impossible. I return to the cemetery each year and place a rose upon each grave I desecrated and pray for each soul I violated, hoping they somehow understand that the knowledge I derived from each of them gave me the skills to save lives.”

  When I finished, I could not look at my brother or sister; instead, I stared down into the bottom of my empty teacup and tried to block the horrible memories these images visited on me year after year, thoughts I longed to forget.

  Matilda spoke next, and when she spoke her voice reminded me of her voice as a child, not like the woman she was now. “When I was seventeen, I attended a Royal Dublin Society Ball at Leinster House. Ma and Pa had no idea I was going; I told them I was visiting my friend Philippa Ferguson, and she told her parents she was staying overnight with our family, as we intended to be out until dawn. I wasn’t fond of lying to Ma and Pa, and I rarely did so, but they could be so protective of me, this was the only way I could win any freedom from their control.

  “Philippa and I dressed in gowns borrowed from her older sister, Amelia. We styled each other’s hair, and pinched our cheeks until they glowed. By the time we were done, we both appeared several years older than our actual age—or so we believed. We left for Leinster House in a hansom cab. Philippa was always beautiful, but on this particular night she was positively radiant. I suppose I was a bit radiant, too, for it didn’t take long before we had a line of suitors asking us to dance. At this juncture, we had little time for attending each other, and before long I had lost track of her amongst the crowd, but since I was enjoying such a delightful time, I thought little of it. Philippa could not have ventured far, and I assumed she was off dancing somewhere else out of my sight. Nearly three hours elapsed, then four. At this point, I began to worry. The hour was late, the number of revelers had thinned, yet I spied no sign of my friend. When I made inquiry of the gentlemen she had danced with earlier in the evening, each told me they had not seen her in a long while. When the clock struck midnight, indicating the conclusion of the ball, I still had not found her. I considered taking another hansom back to her home, but I knew she would not have left without me, so instead I strolled the vast gardens. It was near the gardens’ rear wall that I heard her crying. At first, I couldn’t tell where her sobs came from and thought I imagined them, but then I spotted her huddled in a gazebo next to the rose garden. I went to her quickly and wrapped my arms around her, so glad to have found her, and at my touch she pulled away, her eyes gleaming with terror. When she realized it was me, her face softened, and tears flowed freely again as she held me, her entire body quivering with each sob. We remained embraced like this for some time, and when she was finally able to speak, she told me a most horrific tale. One of her suitors, a man who had claimed to be Thomas Hall, had taken her on a stroll in the garden. Initially, she said it was lovely, walking hand in hand amongst the blossoms, hearing him speak of his travels, throughout Ireland and the United Kingdom, and to America, where he had traveled on three different occasions and would love to take her the next time he went. In the short time they spent together, he made her feel as if they had been friends for many years. When they reached the gazebo, he took her in his arms and kissed her, a deep, passionate kiss, the kind of kiss every girl dreams of, and Philippa thought she found her true love. When that first kiss concluded, he kissed her again, and again after that, before long his lips meandering over her neck and breasts. Although she was greatly attracted to him, she knew they must desist, and she told him so, but he did not, would not; instead, his grip on her arms tightening as he forced yet another kiss upon her.

  “I saw then that her dress was torn, the material at her bosom held up only by her hand, and she told me of the terrible things he did to her, all while her begging him to stop. She pleaded with him again and again, and he ignored her again and again, until finally he slapped her across the face and told her not to utter another sound or he would kill her where she now lay, upon the floor of this gazebo. This went on for nearly twenty more minutes, and my friend Philippa remained mute throughout it all. When it was finally over, he told her to stay there until the band stopped playing. And she was never to speak of what happened; if she dared do so, he said he would seek her out and choke the very life from her body. With that threat delivered, he left. He left her there, in the gazebo, and disappeared in the night. Philippa did as she was told, remaining in the gazebo, until I arrived.”

  Matilda’s eyes had grown red and were filled with tears of her own, yet she fought back the sobs to continue her story. “Had I stayed with her, had I watched over her as we had promised each other we would do, this would have never happened. I knew this was my fault even as Philippa assured me it was not. We stayed at an inn that night and returned to her house in the morning. When we got there, she washed her face, combed her hair, burned the dress in the fireplace, then crawled into her own bed, before asking me to take my leave. I called on her twice during the next week, but she refused to receive me. Although she said she didn’t blame me, I knew that she did, for I so readily blamed myself. A month later, she left for London to stay with her father’s sister. I never saw her again, but thoughts of her are always in my heart.”

  Bram placed a hand over Matilda’s and squeezed it. “It wasn’t your fault. You could not have known. I’m only glad it did not happen to you.”

  “I wish it h
ad happened to me,” Matilda said. “It would be easier to live with than this guilt. A true friend never deserts another. I will take this guilt to my grave.”

  “There is no judgment here, only confessions,” Vambéry said. “You are strong to be able to share such a tale, and I am honored to have you in my life.”

  Vambéry turned to my brother. “And you? As the brother of Thornley Stoker, I can only imagine your life is chockful of things to confess.”

  Bram gazed at one of the gas lamps for a moment, then each of us in turn. “When I was a little boy, I was very ill. I often thought I was just this side of death’s door. My parents brought in numerous physicians, and none could diagnose my sickness. Illness confined me to my room, to my bed. At the age of seven, on the eve of what might have been my final hours, I found myself alone in my room with my . . .” He paused for a second and glanced at both Matilda and me. “With our nanny. She asked me for my trust, and I granted it. In a fevered state, I granted it. She then bit my wrist and drew blood from my veins between her lips. She drew so much blood I thought I would perish from the loss. Then, just when a black veil began to cloak my vision, she raised her own wrist to my mouth. She had cut the flesh so her blood flowed freely, and, God forgive me, I drank of her. I drank until I could drink no more. When I woke the next morning, my illness was cured. I was healthier than I had ever been. Our nanny left us shortly thereafter. I have never been sick again. If I feel the hint of illness, it leaves me shortly thereafter.”

  Matilda reached for his hand and squeezed it, but Bram shook her off. “There is more, something I never shared with anyone. Something I wanted to tell you but could never find the courage to do so. But I fear if I do not tell you now, I never will.”

  “What is it?” Matilda asked.

  “She has come to me many times since that night.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “My dear, sweet sister, when you saw us in the rain the other night, when you saw her drinking my blood and I drinking hers . . . this was but one time of many. Over the years she has visited me more times than I can count. It is her blood that holds my illness at bay. If not for her, I would be dead now. Of that I am certain.”

  All of us fell silent at this confession, Matilda’s face had gone ashen, for she and Bram were extremely close and shared all. To learn of something this grave, in this way; to realize he had not been willing to confide in her until now—she stood from the table and turned her back to us, her eyes fixed on the door.

  Vambéry reached for Bram’s hand. “May I?”

  Bram nodded and turned his wrist over, pulling his shirtsleeve back to reveal the punctures.

  Vambéry took hold of a lamp and brought the light close. “How often would you say she comes to you?”

  Bram shrugged. “It is difficult to say. She only comes at night when I sleep. I am often unsure whether her visits are real or the stuff of dreams. For many years, I thought them all to be dreams. But as I got older, as I realized this wound never quite healed, I came to the truth, the reality of her visits and their role in maintaining my health.”

  “And did you speak to her?” Matilda asked. “Have you been speaking to her for all these years and not telling me? How much more have you hidden from me?”

  Bram shook his head. “There have never been words adequate enough. I have only faint memories of her visits. They’re dream-like. I would wake and wonder if it had happened at all. I wanted so to tell you, you must believe that.”

  “How often, if you had to guess? Once a week? Once a month?” Vambéry pressed.

  “Probably five to six times in a given year.”

  “And yet you said nothing,” Matilda whispered. “When I told you she came to me, you stared at me as if I were a crazy person. The other night, when Thornley confessed to seeing her, you again said nothing. Why didn’t you trust us?”

  “I am truly sorry. I suppose I convinced myself that it wasn’t real. I couldn’t tell you for fear of admitting the truth to myself.”

  Vambéry said, “We all confessed secrets tonight, secrets that now bind us together and make us one, secrets we will all take to our graves. I am honored to know the three of you, to trust you, and to welcome you into my life.” He gestured to Matilda. “Please return to the table, join us. I suspect we have much more to discuss.”

  Matilda did so with reluctance, and she seemed to find it hard to look at Bram and he to look at her. One of the servants returned and refilled our teacups. I believe we all welcomed the interruption; the silence gave us pause to organize our thoughts.

  When the servant left the room, Vambéry turned back to me. “How can I help you, my old friend?”

  For the next hour, we told him all we knew. I began with my sightings of Nanna Ellen, as experienced throughout my life. Then Bram and Matilda told him all they recalled from their childhood, and the horrors discovered in the tower of Artane Castle; they also told him about the maps found in her room they transcribed. We then told him of O’Cuiv, my missing coachman, and the items Bram and Matilda recovered from the grave. I concluded with the events at the hospital, the strange man I met in the street, and the black dog that followed me home. Vambéry took all of this in while asking the occasional question. I had never once witnessed him writing anything down, and he did not take notes now, either; instead, he memorized everything. I saw his mind churning, organizing the facts and conjectures into a coherent narrative.

  When we finally finished, Vambéry sat back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “This girl, O’Cuiv’s daughter, you think she is somehow responsible for your coachman’s disappearance?”

  “We saw no one else that night, only her,” Matilda said.

  “You believe her to be one of them, though? Like your Ellen? Like O’Cuiv? But a child?”

  “Her movements were not natural,” Matilda explained. “I felt I was in the presence of a predator. Had Bram not returned when he did, I think she may have hurt me as well.”

  “Yet she only held Bram while Ellen drank, is that not so? Why would she abstain with the opportunity at hand?”

  “I did not witness her drink; that doesn’t mean she did not,” Matilda countered.

  “The only mark on my person is the one at the wrist; if she drank, wouldn’t there be another?” Bram said.

  “Perhaps she got her fill with my unfortunate coachman?” I pointed out.

  Vambéry nodded at this. “As always, Thornley, your logic prevails.”

  “You know what is happening here, don’t you?” Matilda asked of him. “You have seen this before?”

  Vambéry leaned over the table, his voice hushed. “In my travels, I have seen and heard many things, some treading far beyond what one would consider to be rational. Your tale reminds me of those told to me in Eastern Europe of Ottomans, Romanians, Slavs, and the like. I will share those tales with you eventually, when I deem it appropriate, but for now I would prefer to hear more from you, to ensure my deductions are correct.” His gaze again fell upon my sister. “May I examine the items you retrieved from the O’Cuiv grave?”

  Matilda had stored these things in a small leather satchel. She retrieved it from the floor at her feet and placed it on the table, then extracted each item, lining them up on the table between us.

  Vambéry’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the necklace, and he reached for it. “This is exquisite, and quite valuable. Clearly crafted in Romania, I can tell by the setting—handmade by a very talented craftsman. This ruby is one of the largest I have ever seen. Please put this necklace back in your bag; I fear what might befall you should a thief realize you are harboring this treasure. The Hellfire Club is safe, but, still, there are prying eyes everywhere.”

  I watched as Matilda collected the necklace and carefully placed it back into the small leather satchel. Vambéry then inspected the mirror. “I find this a little odd.”

  “How so?” Bram ask
ed.

  “The fact that you found a looking glass is quite peculiar, but for it to be made of silver and gold, that is odder still.” His finger ran over the engraving. “This inscription will no doubt prove useful; we must devote some time to ascertaining who this Countess Dolingen von Gratz was. Like the necklace, this mirror is very old. The same is true of the hairbrush. Such craftsmanship is typically reserved for the wealthy. Possessions such as these would not belong to a nanny, nor this O’Cuiv family as you described them.”

  Matilda handed him the cloak and told him it belonged to our mother, yet it was found in O’Cuiv’s grave.

  “You are certain?”

  “There is no mistaking it. See the hole in the sleeve there?”

  “And the last time you saw it, the cloak was worn by your Ellen?”

  “On the night before she took leave,” Matilda said.

  “So we have all these things that presumably belong to your former nanny hidden within the grave of your former neighbor. A grave lacking a body, mind you.”

  Matilda produced her sketchbook and turned to the map of Ireland indicating the position of St. John the Baptist Church. “I believe the location of the grave is marked here.”

  Vambéry’s eyes went wide. “You drew this? From memory?”

  “I did.”

  “Remarkable.” He studied the image. “And you said the grave was amongst the suicides?”

  Matilda nodded, then turned the pages of her sketchpad, flipping through the other maps. “All of these marks indicate cemeteries containing either suicide graves or unconsecrated ground.”

  Vambéry retrieved a small magnifying glass from his breast pocket and leaned over the map. After a few minutes’ study, he proceeded on to the next, then the next after that. “I have been to some of these locations, but not all. Did Ellen ever speak of these places?”