by Syrie James
“What bag?”
“Jonathan said in his journal that you gave a bag to those three sisters of yours—a bag which contained a squirming, half-smothered child! An innocent child to satisfy their bloodthirsty appetites!”
“A child? He thought it was a child?” Dracula let out a sudden laugh. “No wonder he passed out in shock. There was no child inside that bag, Mina. It was a lamb.”
“A lamb?”
“A gift from a farmer, to thank me for removing a rather devastating blight to his field of crops. Sheep’s blood is not nearly as satisfying as that of humans, but at times we must make do. One animal sufficed for the four of us, with an added benefit: after we had drained its blood, I cooked it and it made an excellent supper for our human guest.”
I stood and walked away, caught between relief, disbelief, and dismay at this revelation. “And the woman who was devoured by wolves?” I said quietly. “What do you have to say about that?”
“What woman?”
“Jonathan saw her beating on the castle gates, sobbing and demanding that you return her missing child. Then a pack of wolves surrounded her and killed her.”
“My God. Is that what Harker thought he perceived? More and more, I understand why he began to recoil from me in such horror.” Shaking his head, Dracula continued: “Why did he think she died? Did he see a dead body?”
“No. He said she disappeared.”
“Does your husband speak my native tongue?”
“No.”
“Then how could he know what that woman even said? That polyglot dictionary he brought with him seems to have done more harm than good. The locals know me, Mina. They understand and fear my powers, and generally shun me; but occasionally, in times of desperation—as with the farmer—they come to me for a service. That woman was not accusing me of anything. She came to me for help in finding her missing child. I sent those wolves to look for him. They drove the little boy back into the courtyard, right into her arms, and she quickly disappeared home—hopefully to reprimand it for causing so much trouble in the first place. Clearly, Mr. Harker misinterpreted what he saw. I wish he had said something about these fears of his. I would have set him straight; but he was—he is—very English. He never breathed a word.”
I caught hold of a chair, staring at him in stunned silence. I did not know what to think. It suddenly occurred to me that—with the exception of his deliberate detention of Jonathan in Transylvania on my account—nearly every incidence of evil connected with Count Dracula had been reported to me second-hand. Everything that had been witnessed, explained, or described by others could have been misinterpreted or based on faulty information—could it not?
Had we all seriously misjudged this man? He was not what one would consider entirely good, but perhaps he was not evil either?
Dracula crossed to me then and stopped, touching my cheek with one hand as he gazed deeply into my eyes. “Mina,” he said gently, “I swear to you, upon my honour: the only real wrong I have ever done your husband—and I admit it is an egregious one—is to covet the woman he loves.”
My breath caught in my throat. He was so near, so very near. I could read the fervent desire in his blue eyes, and I felt an answering need well up within me. All at once, my anger, fears, and doubts evaporated. I did not care if he was lying or not. I did not care whether he was good or evil. All I cared about was that this man’s arms should wrap around me, that his body should press close against me, and that his lips should find mine.
“They are all bent on destroying you,” I whispered. “What shall I do? How can I help you?”
“I do not think you can help me, my darling. But do not worry. I can take care of myself.”
He drew me close then and kissed me. It was a long and passionate kiss. Desire coursed through me. When his lips left my mouth and travelled down to my throat, I quivered in anticipation, knowing what would come next, wanting it. He promised that I will be safe, I reminded myself. He promised not to harm me. He unbuckled the velvet band around my neck and tossed it aside. His eyes—now red—met mine; I gave him my silent ascent, waiting in breathless ecstasy as my head fell back.
Then I felt it: the prick of his teeth piercing my flesh, and the exquisite joy as my warm blood pulsed from my body into his.
FIFTEEN
I AWAKENED VERY LATE THE NEXT MORNING, THE SUNLIGHT making its presence known despite the cover of the thick yellow window-blinds. I sat up in a daze to find myself alone atop my bed in my own room, fully dressed, my diamond neckband once more securely fastened around my throat. How, I wondered, had I come to be there? The last thing I remembered was Dracula kissing me—biting me. I must have lost consciousness. He must have carried me back, no doubt at some risk to himself. I had no memory of Jonathan coming to bed, but saw that the pillow and bed-clothes were tousled beside me.
I lay back down, feeling dizzy, weak, and confused—yet at the same time curiously happy, as if a sense of deep satisfaction pervaded my whole being. The two small tooth-marks on my neck, hidden beneath the black velvet ribbon, throbbed slightly. As I recalled everything that had happened the night before, and all that I had seen and learned, I could only shake my head in silent wonder. My cheeks flamed. For so many years, I had led such a clean and blameless life. I had never looked at or thought about another man once I became engaged to Jonathan. Yet ever since the first moment I had laid eyes upon Mr. Wagner—Dracula—at Whitby, I had been carrying on a secret affair of the mind and heart; and for the past two nights, I had behaved in such a base and immoral manner!
I loved my husband. I loved him dearly, and I had betrayed his trust. I had willingly, wantonly, allowed myself to be taken in Dracula’s arms and given myself up to his vampire’s kiss. Wicked, wicked Mina! Scarlet woman! And yet I knew, were Dracula to appear in my chamber at that very instant, I would again walk willingly into his embrace.
Everything that Dracula had told me in his defence seemed logical and rang true to me. It appeared that he was truly innocent of any real wrong-doing. He was a fascinating, complicated man. I loved him, and I believed that he loved me. Yes, he was Un-Dead. Yes, he possessed uncanny skills and powers that made my head spin. But I understood now that he was not our enemy—not any one’s enemy. And yet…he was the very being that my husband, Dr. Van Helsing, and the other men were determined to exterminate!
If only I could share with them all that I had learned. If only I could clear Nicolae’s name! But that was impossible. If I admitted how I knew what I knew, scandal would ensue—and for what purpose? Those men would never believe in his innocence. They all had a fixed idea in their minds of what a vampire was. They had seen the horror of Lucy’s death and resurrection, and had been the instruments of her true death; after that, it was unlikely that they would accept anything I said, no matter how cautiously or prettily I presented it.
No; I would have to leave the matter in Dracula’s hands and pray that he could find a way to save himself without harming any one I loved. And then…and then…I could not think beyond “then.” The future was an enigma to me. Please, God, I prayed, help me find a way to sort out this confusion of feeling. Show me what it is that I am meant to do.
My dizziness had finally passed. I rose, washed, and put on my day gown. As I neatly repinned my long hair, the face before me in the glass looked slightly more pale than the day before. I pinched my cheeks, attempting to add more colour to them, to little avail.
The men were all gone again on their mysterious errands. After lunch, an attendant told me that Mr. Renfield had asked if he might see me. The request worried me a little. I could not forget his erratic behaviour on my previous visit, or the warnings that Dr. Seward and Dracula had issued. But I was, in an odd way, grateful to the man—for it was only because of him that Dracula had been able to enter the house to see me—and so I felt I should not refuse. I insisted, however, that the attendant accompany me.
We found Mr. Renfield crouched on the floor in a corner of his room
, mumbling to himself and biting his fingernails in an agitated manner. He seemed unaware that we had entered until I spoke:
“Good afternoon, Mr. Renfield. How are you?”
He looked up then, his mouth widening into a slow smile. “Mrs. Harker. How good of you to come. Won’t you sit down?”
Something about his tone of voice, and the look in his eyes, sent a little shiver down my spine; and yet he spoke like a perfect gentleman. “I prefer to stand, thank you.”
“Then I will stand as well.” He rose and moved towards me, suddenly noticing the attendant at my side. “What is he doing here? I requested a private interview. Tell him to go away.”
“I would like him to stay. What was it you wanted to see me about?”
“Oh, nothing in particular, Mrs. Harker. I just wanted to look at you and hear your voice. You have a very pleasant voice. And you are the prettiest thing to enter these four walls in a very long time. Looking at you gives me great pleasure. But—” He frowned, staring at me. “Something is wrong. You aren’t the same to-day.”
“Not the same? What do you mean?”
“Your face. It is like tea after the teapot has been watered. I don’t care for pale people; I like people with lots of blood in them. Yours seems to have all run out.”
I felt a heat rise to my cheeks at this perceptive observation, a blush strong enough, I hoped, to restore all of the missing colour that seemed to so offend him. “I am a little tired to-day, that is all,” I said quickly.
“Well. You look a little better now—but something is different about you this afternoon. I wish I could put my finger on what it is.” He shook his head, then added solemnly: “‘There’s no art to find the mind’s construction in the face.’”
“Macbeth,” I said.
“It is my favourite play.” Staring hard at me with a sly smile, he further quoted: “‘Stars, hide your fires! Let not light see my black and deep desires!’”
I blushed again. Was Mr. Renfield merely quoting a line at random from the play? Was he referring to dark desires of his own? Or…was he somehow aware of my guilty secret? “Macbeth was a man of great ambition.”
“He was a hero,” he replied.
“I disagree. I think him an unredeemable murderer and a villain of the highest order.”
“Well, there you are wrong.” We discussed Shakespeare for a few minutes more, a conversation in which Mr. Renfield seemed so intelligent, so well-read, and so entirely sane, that it was difficult to believe he was a lunatic being held in a cell.
At length, I told him I must take my leave. “It was good to see you, Mr. Renfield.”
He sighed and—very gently—reached out and took my hand, then brought it to his lips and kissed it. “God bless you, ma’am, for coming. Have a pleasant afternoon and evening. I wish only the best for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Renfield.” I turned to go, but he held tightly to my hand and added:
“One more thing, Mrs. Harker. I have been wondering: do you keep your corset on beneath your nightdress when you sleep, or are you quite free and naked underneath it?”
I yanked my hand away, gasping in shock and mortification at this impertinent question. He laughed loudly, a victorious look in his eyes as he cried:
“There! That’s what I like! Now I see some real colour in those cheeks!”
“That’s enough out of you, Renfield!” cried the attendant as he hurried me to the door.
“‘Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it!’” I heard Mr. Renfield quote with glee, as the attendant slammed and locked the door behind us.
I returned to my rooms, greatly unnerved by the strange meeting; but although Mr. Renfield had made me feel uncomfortable, I could not help feeling sorry for the man. It was not his fault that he had gone mad; and what a terrible fate it would be, I thought, to be locked up in an institution all one’s life!
JONATHAN AND THE OTHERS WERE OUT UNTIL DINNER-TIME. THEY all came in very tired. I did what I could to brighten them up, worrying that they might suspect, as Mr. Renfield had, that something was different about me; but they seemed too preoccupied by their own secret business to pay much attention to me. Jonathan did mention that I had fallen asleep on our bed the night before fully dressed, but he did not seem to wonder at it.
Dinner was once again an awkward and rather silent affair, with the men avoiding any discussion of their activities that day. It had occurred to me that if I could learn something of their plans, I could warn Dracula about them. So I said:
“I know that you wish to shield me from all you do in relation to the Count—but I am greatly concerned about you all. It would set my mind at ease if you would at least tell me whether or not you have any plans to go out to-night.”
Jonathan shot a glance at Dr. Van Helsing, who nodded his assent. “We are not going out to-night, dear. We have a great deal to discuss after dinner.”
“Rest assured, Madam Mina,” Dr. Van Helsing added, “that we have learned much these past few days. Very soon we will take our stance against that monster.”
“We will trap the Devil and we will kill him!” Dr. Seward added with enthusiasm.
My pulse raced with alarm. “How…do you mean to trap him?”
The men exchanged another look. “Mrs. Harker,” Lord Godalming said, “we have agreed to say nothing of our plans. It is best that you stay out of it.”
“But—will you be in any danger?”
“Don’t you fret, little lady,” Mr. Morris said. “We’ll be just fine.”
I nodded silently, trying to hide my anguish.
“Dearest,” Jonathan said, “you look so frightfully worried. You needn’t be. We are men. We know what we are doing. We will take care of this, and we will take care of you.” Giving my hand a squeeze, he turned to Dr. Seward and added, “I say Jack, would you mind mixing up a sleeping draught for Mina, so that she can rest undisturbed to-night?”
“Not a problem,” Dr. Seward replied.
I nearly gasped in dismay. I did not want any drugs putting me to sleep! I had no idea if Nicolae planned to visit me that night; but God forgive me, I hoped he would, and I wanted to be conscious for the event. “That is not necessary,” I said quickly. “I am very tired, and I am certain I will sleep just fine without a draught.”
“All the same, I think you should take something,” Jonathan insisted as we rose from the table, and Dr. Seward agreed.
The doctor later handed me a tiny medicine box containing an opiate of some kind. “This is very mild and will do you no harm, Mrs. Harker, but it should help you sleep. Simply mix the powder into a glass of water.”
I thanked him. Jonathan told me that they might be working very late, but he would look in on me in a little while to make certain I was all right.
“There is no need for that. Enjoy your meeting, dearest. I am sure I will sleep like a baby.”
“Good-night, then,” Jonathan said, kissing me. “I will see you in the morning.”
I bade the men good-night and went upstairs. The moment I reached my room, I opened the box with the sleeping powder draught, removed the little paper envelope within, and took it out onto the balcony, where I let its contents spill out into the night air. Then I came back inside and sat down to wait.
And wait. And wait.
The clock ticked the hours away. Nine o’clock. Ten o’clock. Eleven.
I stood up. I paced. I sat down again. I stared out the window at the night sky, hoping for a glimpse of white mist crossing the grass, or particles of dust whirling in the moonlight. To my disappointment, there was nothing. Nothing at all. All without was still and silent as the grave. A dog’s bark made me leap up with sudden hope, but then it ceased.
The clock struck twelve. Clearly, I thought, Nicolae does not mean to come to-night at all. I suddenly felt very foolish. What kind of woman was I, I wondered, waiting with bated breath for a lover to pay a clandestine call? I had a good husband who was very dear to me—and how was I repa
ying that love and devotion? With dishonesty and betrayal! Flushed with guilt, I closed the windows, put on my nightdress, unpinned and brushed my hair, and went to bed.
Self-recrimination and doubt kept me tossing and turning for a while. When at last I drifted off to sleep, I had a nightmare.
In my dream, I was in an unfamiliar forest landscape, standing on the rocky outcropping of a steep hill-side, surrounded by endless wilderness as far as the eye could see. Beneath me was a long, twisting stretch of dirt road. Patches of snow clung to the ground, and it was bitterly cold. From around a bend, a horse-drawn cart appeared, containing a large, open, wooden box, about the size of a coffin. There was a man’s body in the box, but who it was, I could not determine. The cart was accompanied by a large group of robust, dark-skinned, long-haired men wearing big hats, heavy leather belts, and dirty, baggy, white trousers. From their picturesque dress and appearance, I ascertained them to be gipsies—the kind of gipsies Jonathan had described in his foreign journal.
As I watched the approaching procession below, a terrible feeling came over me of impending danger. The wagon came closer now. I could clearly see the face of the dead man in the box. It was Dracula! To my horror he was dead, truly dead!
All at once, from out of the trees came four men on horseback: Jonathan, Dr. Seward, Lord Godalming, and Mr. Morris! The foursome charged at the wagon and its escort, firing at them with rifles. The gipsies shouted in alarm, drawing forth knives and other weapons. The horsemen dismounted, and a fierce battle ensued. I watched the unfolding chaos in helpless horror, flinching at the report of each gunshot and the flash of each knife-blade. Suddenly, a gipsy viciously stabbed one of the Englishmen, who crumpled to the ground, bleeding. Who was it? I could not see his face! Which one of my men had died? Was it Jonathan?
“No!” I screamed in agony, but my voice was no more than a whisper. “No!”
I awoke in a panic, bathed in perspiration, flung from that terrifying reality into the quiet of the present, my heart pounding. Something touched my arm, and I screamed in earnest, my eyes blinking open.
