by Syrie James
“The Count’s departure has bought us some time,” he said with a little smile. “Knowing that this horrible danger is no longer face to face with us every moment—that is a comfort.”
“Yes.”
His glance touched my forehead, and his smile disappeared. “I am so sorry for what has happened to you, Mina. If ever there was a woman who was all perfection, it is you, my poor wronged darling.”
My cheeks reddened. “I am no saint, Jonathan. I am as far from perfection as a woman can be.”
“Nonsense. You are an angel. Surely God will not permit the world to be the poorer by the loss of one so fair and good as you. This is my hope; and I will cling to it to sustain me through the dark times ahead.” He reached out and took my hand. “At least we have something of a guiding purpose now. Perhaps we are the instruments of ultimate good.”
My blush deepened at his words. Oh! If Jonathan only knew what I had done, and what I still meant to do—could he but be privy to the feelings within my breast, for his very rival—he would surely recoil from me in horror and disdain and hate the very ground I walked upon. Tell him, my mind cried. Tell him everything. He is your husband. He deserves to know the truth. But with a rush of despair, I knew that I could not. Were I to do so, all would be lost: for war would ensue, and one of my two loves was sure to die, if not both of them. I allowed my guilt to subside, stuffing it into a tiny box in my mind, determined not to think of it, to concentrate on the here and now, and to enjoy Jonathan and this day.
When we reached the main street of the village, we were assailed by the aroma of sizzling fresh fish from the Royal Hotel, and we could not resist its advertisement for “World Famous Fish Dinners.” We were quickly seated at a cozy table by the fire, where we enjoyed the best fish and chips that either of us had ever tasted.
“I should never have allowed you to come to London,” Jonathan said, as we ate, “knowing that that creature was here.”
“You could never have guessed what would happen. And I am glad I came.”
“How can you be glad?”
“Had I stayed in Exeter, I would have been paralysed by worry. At least this way, we are together, and I can try to be of help. But there is another reason. There is something I have been wanting to tell you for several days, but I have not had the opportunity: I found my mother and father.”
Jonathan stared at me in astonishment. “You found them? When? How?”
I told him about my excursion on my first evening in town, apprising him of all that I had seen and learned—with the exception, of course, of any mention of the man who had accompanied me.
“Well, that does beat all!” Jonathan said with a laugh when I had finished my tale. “What an exceptional and interesting heritage. You always said you were descended from royalty, Mina. It seems you were very close indeed, for you are the daughter of a lord. Do you intend to contact him?”
“No. The simple knowledge of who I am and where I came from has answered so many questions that I am quite content.”
“It is a shame that your mother and father could not marry, and very sad that she died. It would have been wonderful to meet her.”
“To know her—to have her in my life—that would have been beyond anything.”
“A gipsy for a mother! Just think of it! I wonder who her people were.”
“I suppose I shall never know.”
“No wonder you dream so often, Mina, and seem to sense things before they happen.”
“It does seem to explain a lot, doesn’t it?”
We both laughed. As I wiped my hands on my serviette, my eyes fell upon my gold wedding band, and my thoughts catapulted in an entirely different direction. “Jonathan: where did you get the money to purchase my wedding ring?”
“Remember the horde of gold coins I found at Dracula’s castle? I took some. I decided it was my due, after all he had put me through.”
“I assumed as much,” I nodded, thinking how ironic it was that Dracula himself had financed the very band which had wed me to the man he despised as his rival.
“Whenever I think about our wedding,” Jonathan said, “I am so ashamed. I was such a wreck, barely able to lift a finger. You were so brave, you never complained. I am still determined, you know, when all this is over, when you—when you are not—” His gaze darted to my forehead, and he went on firmly: “When our lives are ours once again, we will have a proper wedding in a proper church, with bridesmaids and flowers and music, everything you could want.”
“I have everything I could want right here,” I assured him. “A big wedding is really only to please others. We have no family and so few friends. Just being together and moving forward with our lives: that is all I require to make me happy.”
Jonathan smiled warmly as he reached across the table and covered his hand with mine. “You are a treasure, Mina. I am so lucky to have you.”
“It is I who am lucky.”
After luncheon, we strolled down the main street of the village in a light-hearted mood. When Jonathan saw that the baker’s shop was selling miniature plum tarts (my life-long favourite), he insisted on purchasing some. We consumed the delicious treats on a bench in a little park overlooking the river, where we tossed morsels of crust to the ducks and geese that gathered at our feet on the grassy bank. When we resumed our walk, Jonathan paused outside the door to the small general shop, where a stand held walking-sticks for sale. He picked one up.
“What do you think, Mina? These are all the rage. Do I need one of these to look proper and important?” He posed with the stick in a ridiculously pompous, comical manner.
A laugh bubbled up from deep within me. “Perhaps you do. You are an important solicitor now.”
“But more importantly: you are an important solicitor’s wife.”
A display of old books in the shop-window caught my eye. “Look.” I pointed to a slim, attractive volume, which I instantly coveted. “It is The Complete Sonnets of William Shakespeare. I have always wanted my own copy.”
“Let us go in and take a look at it.” Jonathan put back the walking-stick, pushed open the door to the shop, and held it ajar for me.
“It is probably expensive.”
“I don’t care.” We entered the shop, and Jonathan had the clerk retrieve the book from the window.
“It is quite an old book, and magnificently bound,” the clerk said, naming a price which I thought quite excessive; but Jonathan did not even blink, simply indicating with a silent nod of his head that the clerk should give the book to me.
I took the book in my hands, running my fingers over the cover of smooth, bottle-green leather, and the letters of the title embossed in gold. I carefully turned the gilt-edged pages, admiring the fine quality of the paper, the skill of the typesetter, and the familiar and beloved poetry within.
“Do you like it?” Jonathan asked.
“I love it.”
“We’ll take it,” Jonathan said.
As the clerk went to wrap it up, I smiled. “Thank you, dearest. I will cherish this book always.”
“I am glad you pointed it out. It is so nice to see you smiling again.”
WE CONVENED A GENERAL MEETING IN DR. SEWARD’S STUDY EARLY that evening, where the scouting party revealed all that they had learned that day.
It had been a surprisingly easy task, Dr. Van Helsing explained, to find the ship upon which the Count had sailed. The Lloyd’s Register listed only one Black-Sea-bound ship that went out with the tide: the Czarina Catherine. Certain enquiries at the wharf, which involved plying rough men with drink and coin, turned up the following facts: that a tall, thin man, dressed all in black except for a conspicuous straw hat, had paid the captain of the Czarina Catherine to accept as freight a large, rectangular box, big enough to hold a coffin. The same man had delivered the box himself, lifting it down from the cart entirely unassisted, although it was so heavy that it took several men to load it onto the ship.
The man asked the captain to wait to se
t sail until he had completed a few other arrangements, a request which caused a loud row between them.
“You’d better be bloody quick,” the captain cried, “for my ship leaves this bloody place before the turn of the bloody tide.”
A thin mist soon began to creep up from the river, growing into a dense fog, which entirely enveloped the Czarina Catherine. It became apparent that the ship would not sail as expected. The water rose and rose; the captain was in a frenzy; then, just at full tide, the man clad in black came up the gang-plank with the necessary papers for his box to be unloaded in Varna, and to be given over to a particular agent there. After standing a while on deck, he disappeared. The fog melted away, and the ship set sail on the ebb tide.
I had to smile at Nicolae’s tactics. He had called attention to himself in every possible way: by wearing a hat that was slightly out of season; by causing an argument with the captain in full view of the stevedores; by lifting a box that was far too heavy for one pair of human hands; and by calling in the fog which had so dramatically delayed the ship’s departure. In so doing, he had made certain that his “departure” would be noticed and remembered.
“And so, my dear Madam Mina,” Dr. Van Helsing concluded, “we may all rest for a time, for our enemy is inside that box of his, far out upon the sea. When we start after him, we will go on land, which is more quick, and meet him when the ship docks at Varna.”
“Are you certain that the Count remained on board the ship?” Jonathan enquired.
“He would never leave his only remaining box of earth,” the professor replied. “And we have even better proof of that: your wife’s own evidence, when in the hypnotic trance this morning.”
“In that case,” I put in, “since he has been driven from England, will not the Count take his rebuff wisely? Will he not avoid this country for ever, as a tiger does the village from which he has been hunted?”
“Aha!” Dr. Van Helsing replied, “your simile of the tiger is good. I shall adopt him. A tiger who has once tasted blood of the human, he care no more for other prey. He prowl unceasingly till he get more. This beast we now hunt from our village is a tiger, too. Look at his history! In his living life, Dracula was a ruler and a warrior, who go over the Turkey frontier and attack his enemy on his own ground. He be beaten back time and again, but always he return, with persistence and endurance. He work for decades, maybe centuries, to migrate to this city which hold such promise for him. Mark my words: we may have driven him off to-day, but he will be back!”
“I think that highly unlikely,” I persisted, “and it seems unnecessary now to pursue him.”
“Unnecessary?” Dr. Van Helsing cried. “Unnecessary? But it is of the greatest necessity that we follow him! Think of all the people this monster will kill, even in his own land! And he have so infect you, Madam Mina, that in time, in death, you shall become like him. This must not be!”
“What if you are mistaken? You said, Professor, that even though I drank Count Dracula’s blood, I can live out my life in peace. Only when I die will we know if I present a danger to myself and to humanity. Isn’t that right?”
“This is correct, yes.”
“Then why not simply let my life run its course, and—if indeed I become a vampire as you fear—you can dispatch me as you did Lucy.”
The men all regarded me with horror. “You are asking us to wait for your death, and then haunt your tomb?” Dr. Seward cried. “To stab you in the heart and cut off your head?”
“If that is what is required to free my soul, then yes. But it may not happen.”
“Never!” Jonathan cried.
“Unthinkable!” cried Dr. Van Helsing. “We cannot know how long the rest of us will live, Madam Mina. We may not even be here to do this horrible deed.”
“We must end this now, once and for all,” Lord Godalming insisted.
“We must utterly stamp him out!” Dr. Van Helsing concurred. “For if we fail, this Dracula may be the father or furtherer of a new order of beings, whose road must lead through Death. We must go out like the old knights of the Cross, to redeem your soul, and to avenge the death of the so sweet woman he murder: Miss Lucy!”
“Dracula did not murder Lucy!” I blurted vehemently, leaping to my feet. “You did that! Lucy died because you transfused her too many times!”
A hush fell over the room. Five pairs of eyes stared at me in stunned consternation.
“It is true. You gave her the blood of four different men! There are different types of blood, and that is what killed her.”
“Do not be absurd,” Dr. Van Helsing said impatiently. “Blood is blood with humans: it is all the same.”
“That monster turned her into a vampire,” Dr. Seward declared fiercely. “We saw the horror of her resurrection with our own eyes.”
“I understand,” I went on hastily, “but if you continue on this terrible road, I fear that some great harm might befall one or all of you. Please! For my sake, I beg of you: call off your hunt.”
The men’s glances were all now drawn as one to the mark on my forehead. As they exchanged silent looks across the table, I sensed their doubt and mistrust and realised I had betrayed myself. In speaking thus, I had given them cause to suspect me. Not of being in love with Dracula, perhaps, but of being in league with him; that the monster, as they called him, had so poisoned my blood that I could not help but champion his cause despite myself, even if it spelled my doom.
“I think it best that nothing be definitely settled to-night,” Dr. Seward said quietly.
“Yes; yes. Let us all sleep on it,” Dr. Van Helsing replied in an off-hand manner. “To-morrow we shall meet again, and try to think out the proper conclusions.”
THE PLAN WAS NOT WORKING, I THOUGHT, AS I LAY IN BED DISTRAUGHT that night.
It succeeded in part, Dracula’s voice announced in my mind. They think I have left the country.
Yes, but what good is it if they insist on following that ship? When they intercept that box and find it empty, they’ll know you tricked them, and they will redouble their efforts to find you.
Undoubtedly.
They no longer trust me.
I know. I am sorry.
What shall we do?
Re-think. Replan.
His thoughts went quiet for a moment. Although the windows were shut, I could hear the sounds of the night without: the faint chirp of crickets. The wind in the trees. The distant baying of a hound. With my eyes closed, I saw Dracula in my mind: his handsome face smiled at me with such intimate affection, I felt as if he could see into my very soul. And yet he was still an enigma to me. There was so much I had yet to understand, so many things I wanted to ask him, I barely knew where to begin.
Begin anywhere.
I smothered a self-conscious laugh, glancing guiltily at Jonathan’s sleeping form beside me. Would I ever get used to Nicolae’s ability to read my mind so unconditionally, while I had such limited access to his? All right. When were you born?
In 1447.
With wonder, I did the mental calculation. That makes you…443 years old.
I told you I was an old man.
You also promised to tell me who you were in your human life, and how you became a vampire. Will you tell me now?
I will tell you presently. I will come for you at midnight.
Midnight? But is that safe?
I heard the amusement in his reply: Fear not, my dearest love. No one sees me unless I wish to be seen.
Midnight was not far off. I lay in the darkness for a little while, listening to Jonathan’s even breathing—torn between my love for him and my love for Nicolae—and the constant, painful feelings of self-reproach engendered by this immoral duality. At length, I rose silently. By the aid of the moonlight filtering through the blinds, I got dressed; then I sat in the armchair in our sitting area and waited.
Suddenly, around the edges of my bedroom door rushed in a trail of dust motes which assembled into Dracula’s form. As he waved a hand in Jonath
an’s direction, I moved into my lover’s embrace. He kissed me, then removed his long, black cloak and enveloped me in it.
Where are we going? I asked in thought.
Carfax. It is safe again, since they think I am gone.
Sweeping me up into his arms, he carried me out onto the balcony and shut the casement windows behind us. I felt the now-familiar blast of cold wind, whirr of sound, and flash of images and light, and we were once more ensconced in Dracula’s secret parlour.
All was as warm and welcoming as before. Most of his books had been unpacked and stowed on the shelves. The portrait of me still stood prominently on the easel in the corner. Nicolae led me to an open spot before the smokeless fire, where—to my astonishment—I saw a brand-new phonograph sitting upon a low table, with a wax cylinder on the spindle. He had fashioned a cone of tin, much like a megaphone, around the forked listening device.
“You bought a phonograph?” I said in surprise. “What is that cone for?”
“To amplify the sound. It is a fascinating machine, but I devised a better use for it than to simply record the voice. Listen.” He put the instrument in play. After a few scratchy moments, the faint sound of a violin began to emanate from the cone, playing a song which held great meaning for me: Tales from the Vienna Woods.
I gasped in wonder. “How on earth did you…”
He nodded wordlessly towards a violin, which rested in a case near-by.
“I did not know you played the violin.”
“There is a great deal about me that you do not know.” With a smile, he took me into his arms and assumed the waltz position. We began to dance to the familiar tune.
“What a thrilling concept: recorded music,” I enthused. “Think what could be done with it!”
“The quality and volume of the sound—that is a problem which must be perfected. I am certain others are working on it as we speak.”
