by Syrie James
“Is anything wrong?”
Yes, I thought; this is wrong. These feelings that I have for you—and that you have for me. Aloud, I said: “I am greatly worried about my friends. Neither of them is very well.”
“I am sorry to hear it. Is there anything I can do?”
“I do not think so; unless you know the name of a good doctor in Whitby.”
“I would be happy to make some enquiries in that regard.”
“That would be most kind, sir.”
Just then, a stout, red-cheeked woman stepped out of the near-by post office, with several letters in her hand. Catching sight of me with a surprised gasp, she called out: “Miss Murray!”
“Oh dear,” I said quietly.
“Who is it?” asked Mr. Wagner.
“My landlady, Mrs. Abernathy—a very garrulous woman.”
Whenever I had been with Mr. Wagner in the past, other than the time I introduced him to Lucy at the pavilion, I had not run into any one I knew. Now, Mrs. Abernathy marched up and stopped before us, a look of immense curiosity on her face as she stared at Mr. Wagner.
“Well, well, Miss Murray!” she said heartily. “Who might your handsome friend be?”
Mr. Wagner returned her intense gaze, and said in a soft, deep tone: “No one in particular, madam.”
Mrs. Abernathy stood as if transfixed for a moment, her jaw dropping in puzzlement; then she abruptly turned to me, as if she had forgotten all about him, and said, “This just arrived for you, Miss Murray. Good day.” Placing a letter in my hand, she turned and hurried away before I could thank her.
“Oh!” I said happily.
“Is it from Jonathan?” Mr. Wagner asked.
“No. It is from his employer; but perhaps he has sent on another letter from Jonathan.” I quickly opened the envelope. It contained a brief cover note from Mr. Hawkins, and, as hoped, another letter—but when I saw the return address, I cried out in alarm.
“What is it?”
“The letter he forwarded—it is postmarked from a hospital in Buda-Pesth; and the handwriting—I do not know it.” I ripped it open and hurriedly scanned the first few lines of the missive within:
Hospital of St. Joseph and Ste. Mary
Buda-Pesth
12 August, 1890
Dear Madam—
I write by desire of Mr. Jonathan Harker, who is himself not strong enough to write, though progressing well, thanks to God and St. Joseph and Ste. Mary. He has been under our care for nearly six weeks, suffering from a violent brain fever. He wishes me to convey his love—
This news, so long anticipated with equal parts hope and dread, so filled me with agony and relief that I burst into tears.
Mr. Wagner looked on with concern as I struggled to compose myself. “Is he—?”
“Oh! Sir,” I cried in between sobs, “Jonathan is found! He is in hospital in Buda-Pesth!”
“I hope he is well, and safe?”
“I do not know. I must go home at once and finish the letter. Please excuse me—”
“Wait. Miss Murray: you are too distraught. Please allow me to be of assistance. I will escort you home.”
“No! I am sorry, but—thank you for—good-bye, sir. Good-bye!”
“Good-bye?” he repeated, startled. His eyes narrowed, as a dark look crossed his countenance—a look which caused a sudden rush of apprehension to dart up my spine.
I made no further reply; choking back a sob, I ran off, clutching the letter. Although I did not look back, I felt the heat of Mr. Wagner’s gaze on me the whole length of the street, and long after I had turned the corner and passed from his view.
When I reached our lodging-house in the Crescent, I went straight to the sitting-room and flung myself into a chair by the window, where I dried my eyes and set to reading through the rest of the letter. Lucy and her mother, who had been chatting in the otherwise empty room, observed my distress and immediately rushed to my side, drew up chairs, and peppered me with anxious questions. I explained that the letter was about Jonathan and implored them to wait for me to finish. The letter was several pages long; when I had ascertained its contents, which at last released me from that uncertainty under which I had been suffering for so long, I began to cry afresh.
“What is it, Mina?” Lucy said. “Is Jonathan all right?”
“He is ill,” I replied, in between sobs. “That is why he did not write. All this time, he has been in hospital in Buda-Pesth, suffering from brain fever!”
“Brain fever?” cried Mrs. Westenra in alarm. “Oh dear, that is very serious.”
I nodded, wiping away tears. “The letter is from a nurse called Sister Agatha, who has been caring for him. She says he appears to have had some fearful shock. She says—” Reading aloud from the letter, I went on: “‘In his delirium his ravings have been dreadful; of wolves and poison and blood; of ghosts and demons; and I fear to say of what. Be careful with him always that there may be nothing to excite him of this kind for a long time to come; the traces of such an illness as his do not lightly die away.’”
“Wolves and blood and demons!” Lucy repeated. “How frightful! I wonder what could have caused such imaginings?”
“They do not seem to know. Apparently he came in the train from Klausenburg, and arrived in a violent, delusional state. The sister says she would have written sooner, but they were unable to ascertain Jonathan’s name or where he came from until recently. He is apparently doing better now and is well cared for, but she says he will need to rest for some weeks yet.”
“Well, this is good news,” Mrs. Westenra said, patting my knee. “At last, you know where he is, and that he is safe.”
“Yes. But how strange that he had this letter sent to Mr. Hawkins, and not directly to me. I wrote to Jonathan in Transylvania, and gave him my address here in Whitby. He must have never received those letters. He says he needs money to help pay for his treatment—and dear Mr. Hawkins, in his letter, says he is forwarding him a sum. Oh! To think of Jonathan all alone, in a hospital in Buda-Pesth! I should go to him at once!”
“Yes, you must,” Lucy agreed.
When I glanced at Lucy, however, my resolve wavered. Although she was in good spirits—a charade I believe she maintained for her mother’s sake—she was still very pale and drawn-looking, and I could not forget the two strange marks at her throat, which (although covered by her collar and her velvet band) I knew had not yet healed. “How can I go?” I said, shaking my head. “You are not well yourself, Lucy. We do not know the cause of your malaise, and you are still prone to sleep-walking. I should stay here and look after you.”
“You will do no such thing,” said Lucy.
“I will keep an eye on Lucy,” said her mother. “We can share a room from now on, if need be.”
I sighed. Mrs. Westenra suffered from a delicate health condition herself. It seemed that everyone I loved most in the world was ill, and I felt torn. “Are you certain that you can do without me?” I said dubiously.
“Mina: your place is with your fiancé,” Lucy insisted, “and my place is with mine. Have you forgotten? Arthur is coming to join us in a day or two! He will take care of me, should I need taking care of. I think I have just been pining away for missing him, and I shall feel right as rain again as soon as he is here.”
This reminder somewhat alleviated my concerns, for I knew Mr. Holmwood to be a most devoted and capable man. One other thought, however, struck me: that in leaving, I would be saying good-bye for ever to Mr. Wagner. In all probability, I would never see him again. The thought pained me greatly, but there was nothing I could do about it.
“I shall go to Jonathan, then—the sooner the better,” I resolved. “I will help nurse him if I can, and bring him home.”
“Is Buda-Pesth very far away?” Lucy asked.
“Yes. It is in Hungary,” I replied. “Thankfully, I have a little money saved up—it was to help pay for our wedding, but—Mrs. Westenra, do you have any idea how much such a journey will cost?
Jonathan did not share with me the particulars of his travel arrangements, and I have never been out of the country before.”
“Do not worry, my dear,” said Mrs. Westenra kindly. “Lucy and I have been to the Continent several times, and are familiar with all the ins and outs. The crossing is very easily made, and the European trains are not terribly expensive. As for the cost: I will be happy to help.”
“Mrs. Westenra, you are too kind; but I cannot allow you to do that.”
“I must insist. You say Mr. Hawkins has sent money to the sanatorium where Jonathan is staying, but it cannot be inexpensive—and he has been there how many weeks already? Even if you could afford the journey over, in a very short time you might find yourselves entirely penniless in one of the farthest corners of Eastern Europe—and I will not have that.”
I started to protest again, but Mrs. Westenra went on:
“Consider it a wedding gift in advance, Mina. For years, you and Jonathan have both worked very hard for little pay. Lucy is about to marry a very rich man. My husband left me a comfortable income—and if I cannot use a little bit of it to help a dear friend in need, then what is it for?”
She gave me a silent, meaningful look, which I took to be a reminder of her secret admission to me, with regard to her heart condition. I understood what she would not say aloud: that she was not long for this earth, and—not needing the money herself—she wanted to share some of it with me.
“Thank you,” I acquiesced quietly. “You are very generous.”
We agreed that I should leave first thing the next morning, and set to work mapping out my journey. I sent a telegram to the hospital in Buda-Pesth, informing Jonathan of my plans, and spent the rest of the day packing up my belongings. As I had left school for good in July, I had brought everything I owned in the world with me to Whitby. For greater ease of travel, I decided that I ought to keep my things to a minimum on this voyage and carry only two bags, with one change of dress. I arranged to have my trunk sent on to Exeter, in care of Mr. Hawkins, so that it would be waiting for me upon my return.
THAT NIGHT, I WAS TOO FILLED WITH ANXIETY TO SLEEP. THE farthest I had ever travelled was to Cornwall with Lucy and her parents, one summer long ago. I had always dreamed of seeing more of the world; but to see it under these circumstances—it was dreadful! I knew I should be too worried about Jonathan to give much thought to my surroundings.
My eyes filled with tears the next morning as I said good-bye to Mrs. Westenra while waiting for the coach to arrive. I worried that this might be the last time I would see her. “I am so grateful for all your help,” I said, embracing her warmly. “You have always been so good to me. I will miss you.”
“You will be far too busy and happy to miss me,” Mrs. Westenra replied with an affectionate smile. “Now go to your future husband. Give him my love.”
Lucy and I said our good-byes at the Whitby railway station, issuing heartfelt promises to write frequently and share every bit of news.
“Take care of yourself, dearest,” I said, as we exchanged hugs and kisses. “I know that you are keeping up a good front for your mother, but if you are not well by to-morrow, promise me that you will see a doctor.”
“I promise. Give my best to Jonathan. Tell him to get well soon.”
“I will. Kiss Arthur for me. I love you,” I said, hugging her again, just before I boarded the train.
“I love you too,” Lucy said, blowing me another kiss in the air. “Good-bye!”
Long after I took my seat by the window, I saw Lucy standing on the platform, waving at me, making funny faces, and smiling her beautiful smile, until the train pulled away.
THE NORTH EASTERN RAILWAY DELIVERED ME TO SCARBOROUGH, where I changed trains and rode on to Kingston on Hull. From there, I boarded a boat bound for Germany. It was my first ocean crossing, and at first I found it exciting. What a merry place a steamer is, as it prepares for a voyage! The packet deck was astir with passengers, both male and female, many of them richly dressed in sumptuous cloaks, flowered bonnets, and dark silk dresses which seemed far too fine for the circumstances.
As the ship coasted out of the harbour, I stood at the rail, delighting in the feel of the fresh sea-breeze against my cheeks and the view of the heaving channel waves. Once we struck out into the open water, however, I was overcome by sea-sickness, and hurried down into the cabin.
I understand that meals were served above—lunch, dinner, breakfast—but I did not care; I spent the remainder of the voyage below, growing increasingly ill as the day and night drew on, and as the sea roughened. It seemed an endless voyage, covering some 370 miles from port to port; the groans of the other passengers filled my ears, along with their fevered prayers that we would reach shore in safety.
At last, a calm fell upon us, and I heard the stewardess pronounce the words I longed to hear: “We are in port.”
We docked at Hamburg. I recall very little of the remainder of the journey, except that it was long and tiring, required a frequent change of trains, and I heard a great many different languages spoken along the way. I caught a few hours of sleep whenever I could but made no overnight stops, determined to reach Jonathan expeditiously and with as little expense as possible. We passed through some beautiful country-side, and what looked to be some very interesting towns, their names becoming longer and more unpronounceable as we journeyed eastward.
As I dozed in my seat, my thoughts were primarily occupied with my concerns for Jonathan. I was vexed by another thing as well: I could not help but feel regret for the abrupt manner in which I had parted from Mr. Wagner. He had seemed so startled and upset when I said good-bye. Even knowing that our association must and should end, I had hoped to be afforded an opportunity to express my gratitude for his—his friendship—and my best wishes for his continued health and happiness, on the day that I was obliged to leave Whitby. Instead, I had left without seeing him again. Not knowing where he lodged, I had not even been able to send him any word of my plans.
It is all for the best, I told myself, as the gentle movements of the train rocked me ever closer to the edge of sleep. You are going to Jonathan: to the man you love and are to marry. He needs you. You must think only of him now.
DURING THAT ENDLESS TRAIN RIDE, I HAD ONE VIVID DREAM which I will never forget.
The dream began most beautifully. I was in the bride’s room at a church—where, I could not say—and it was my wedding-day. Lucy, looking lovelier than ever in her bridesmaid’s gown of pale blue silk, was helping me to dress. I stood before a looking-glass, gazing in wonder at the reflection pictured there.
“Mina, you look positively radiant!” Lucy enthused.
I did look radiant. My hair was swept up elegantly, and held in place by pearl-studded pins. I was dressed in a splendid wedding-gown of pure white silk, with magnificent puffed sleeves, long, beaded cuffs, and a tightly fitted bodice trimmed with white lace and beads.
“I told you white was your colour,” Lucy added with a triumphant smile.
My three other best friends from school were there, wearing similar bridesmaids’ dresses, all fussing about me to make certain that everything was ready and in place.
Mrs. Westenra removed the string of pearls that always hung about her throat and offered them to me. “I want you to wear these to-day, my dear, for good luck,” she said, smiling. “I wore them at my own wedding these many years ago, and Edward and I were so very happy together.”
With gratitude, I allowed Mrs. Westenra to fasten her pearls around my neck.
“It is time!” Lucy cried, kissing me on the cheek, as she and the other girls draped my long, diaphanous wedding veil over my head and face.
Our friend Kate Reed, whom I had known and loved since I first started school, placed a fragrant bouquet of orange blossoms into my arms. “Go, my friend,” she said happily, “and be married!”
As I entered the church (a grand, majestic house of worship), I heard the music playing, and found Mr. Hawkins—the closest I
had ever known to a father—waiting for me at the door, a warm smile on his crinkly face. I was about to take his arm and lead the procession up the aisle, with my bridesmaids following behind us; but then I had a sudden, daring thought: why follow tradition? I was a modern, New Woman, was I not? Why not be different, and break the mold?
Turning to Lucy and my bridesmaids, I said softly, “You girls go first. I will make my entrance last, in your wake.”
Lucy’s eyes widened in surprise; then she whispered, “How lovely, Mina! You will be the grand finale, and call all the attention to yourself. I believe I shall do the same at my wedding.”
Accordingly, Lucy and the other girls made their way up the aisle, two and two. As I followed on Mr. Hawkins’s arm, I felt a burst of happiness; for through the nearly transparent veil, I saw that all my favourite, former pupils and fellow-teachers were there, and they were all smiling and craning their necks to look at me. Jonathan’s dear mother—although dead for a year—was sitting among the congregants, which pleased me greatly, and did not strike me as the slightest bit odd. The clergyman stood at the altar, which was decorated with enormous bouquets of flowers. Jonathan waited beside him, along with his best man: strangely, it was Lucy’s Arthur Holmwood, whom Jonathan had only met once before. Both men looked tall and dapper in dark blue morning coats and pale grey trousers, with their hair neatly combed and serious expressions on their faces.
At the clergyman’s prompting, Mr. Hawkins gave me over to Jonathan. I took his arm and we both knelt at the communion rails. The clergyman performed the ceremony, at first speaking rapidly in a language I did not understand. Then, suddenly, he was speaking in English about the Judgment Day, “when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed,” asking if there was any one who had any objection to the union. To my dismay, I heard a deep, familiar voice cry out:
