After locking and bolting the castle's great front door, the white-haired count, carrying Harker's heavy trunk easily in one hand, and still bearing the antique lamp in the other, preceded Harker up a zigzag stair of stone.
As the young man climbed he looked about him with wonder and appreciation. The interior of the castle, of this portion of it anyway, looked much more solid in its fabric, far better kept, than the ruinous appearance of the exterior had suggested. The wavering light of the lamp in Count Dracula's hand, falling on strange statues, cast even stranger shadows on walls and ceiling, on faded tapestries and old paintings; and it drew faint gleams from mounted sets of medieval armor and edged weapons.
Once more Harker considered that as evidently no servants were available, he ought to assume the burden of his own baggage; but the manner of his host silently discouraged the attempt. Count Dracula, laden as he was, took flight after flight of stairs at a brisk, untiring pace, leaving the younger Harker puffing in an effort to keep up.
Presently, without breaking stride, the white-haired man turned his head and demanded cheerfully: "Come, tell me of the London properties you have procured for me!"
Harker, glad of his recent effort to review the business, did the best he could, while puffing.
"Well, sir, I believe the most remarkable is the estate called Carfax. No doubt the name is a corruption of the French term quatre face, as the house is four-sided, lined up exactly with the four points of the compass."
His host glanced back while Harker paused for breath. Then the young man continued: "There are about twenty acres, quite surrounded by a solid stone wall. There are many trees on it, which make it in places gloomy, and there is a deep, dark-looking pond.
"The house itself is quite large, and of all periods back, I should say, to medieval times, for one part is of stone immensely thick. It has not been repaired for a large number of years."
Count Dracula, who had considerately waited for him, nodded thoughtfully. They climbed on, now passing ancient Greek and Roman statues, all seemingly in perfect condition.
"I am glad that it is old," the count remarked at last. "I come from an old family, and to live in a new house would kill me."
The young visitor was much relieved to be shown at last into a well-lit room in which a table was spread for supper—there was only a single place setting, of golden plates and goblets along with covered serving dishes; antique work that, as Harker quickly estimated, must have been worth a small fortune. On this room's mighty hearth a great fire of logs, recently replenished, flamed and flared, driving away the chill of the Carpathian night. Here, as in the other portions of the castle the visitor had so far seen, weapons formed a large part of the wall decorations.
The count closed the door by which they had entered from the corridor, then, crossing the room, opened another door, which led into a snug bedroom, invitingly well lighted and warmed with another log fire, which sent a hollow roar up the wide chimney.
Here he put down Harker's bags and withdrew, saying: "You will need to refresh yourself after your journey. When you are ready, come into the other room, where you will find your supper prepared."
The light and warmth of these rooms, and his host's courteous welcome, had already gone far to dissipate Harker's fears, and the young man realized that he was half-famished. He quickly did as he had been bidden.
On returning to the sitting room, he found Count Dracula leaning against the stonework of the great fireplace. Dracula indicated the table with a graceful wave of his hand.
"I pray you," he urged his guest, "be seated and sup how you please. You will, I trust, excuse me that I do not join you; but I have dined already, and I do not sup."
Even as the count spoke he stepped forward and himself took the cover off a dish, revealing an excellent roast chicken. There were also, as Harker soon discovered, cheese, and salad, and a dusty bottle of aromatic old Tokay.
Harker fell to at once. Conversation, while he ate and drank—rationing himself to two glasses of the enjoyable wine—ranged over some of the unusual things he had observed on his journey. Dracula remained standing beside the fireplace, evidently quite comfortable in that position. He listened with interest to Harker's remarks and was able to explain some of the events and customs the Englishman had found puzzling.
As soon as Harker had finished eating, he arose and accepted a cigar offered by his host, then lighted it with a splinter of wood plucked from the hearth.
A faint sound from outside the window made the visitor turn in that direction, where he was able to observe the first dim streak of the coming dawn. To Harker there seemed, at this moment, a strange, fresh stillness over everything; but as he listened he heard once more, as if from the valley below the castle, the howling of many wolves.
His host's eyes gleamed at the sound. Quietly the old man remarked: "Listen to them—the children of the night! What music they make!"
Harker, doing his best to be polite but feeling very sleepy, murmured something.
The count smiled knowingly at the young foreigner's lack of comprehension. "We are in Transylvania; and Transylvania is not England. Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things. This ground was fought over for centuries, by my ancestors against the Saxon and the Turk. There is hardly a foot of soil in all this region that has not been enriched by the blood of patriots and invaders!"
He paused, then added in a quieter voice: "You may go anywhere you wish in the castle, except where the doors are locked, where of course you will not wish to go."
"I am sure of it, sir…" Harker paused, his curiosity aroused, blinking away sleep. "Count Dracula, that face in the tapestry behind you… an ancestor, perhaps? I believe I detect a resemblance… ?"
"Ha, yes." The old man turned his head and appeared to consider the figures in the tapestry with satisfaction. "The Order of the Dragon. An ancient society, pledging my forefathers to defend the Church against all enemies."
Turning back to Harker, the count displayed white pointed teeth. "Alas, the relationship was not entirely… successful."
Harker blinked at him, not sure that he had understood what the words and the wicked smile seemed to imply. "They were, I am sure, good Christians, even as you—"
"We are Draculas!" the count roared, and his eyes seemed to glow red. In the next instant he had snatched down one of the weapons from the wall, a curved Turkish sword.
He brandished the blade in his right hand. "And we Draculas have a right to be proud! Is it a wonder we are a conquering race? What devil or witch was ever so great at Attila, whose blood flows in these veins?"
He slashed the air with the sword, right and left, so that Harker, shaken, his cigar forgotten, recoiled. Then Dracula used the curved blade as a pointer, emphatically indicating the proud face of the warlord in the tapestry. "His glory is my glory!"
As abruptly as it had appeared, the burst of demonic energy faded. The old man's shoulders slumped and he reached tiredly to restore the weapon to its sheath upon the wall.
Gazing into the distance, he said, in a much softer voice: "Blood is too precious a thing in these times. And the glories of my great race are as a tale that is told."
Turning slowly, drained, saddened, no longer frightful, he approached Harker. He added: "I am the last of my kind."
Harker bowed, somewhat stiffly following his shock. At least he was no longer having to struggle to stay awake. "I have offended you with my ignorance, Count. Forgive me."
Dracula bowed in turn, accepting the apology. "Forgive me, my young friend. It is long since I have been accustomed to guests. And I am weary with many years of mourning over the dead."
But already a relentless energy was driving back the appearance of age and weariness. A kind of smile returned to the count's face.
"Your employer, Mr. Hawkins, writes most highly of your talents. Come, tell me more of the houses you have procured for me!"
Half an hour later, the conference between
purchaser and agent had been adjourned to another well-lighted room, where a number of documents, including deeds and legal descriptions, had been set out on a broad table. Overlooking the table was a large-scale wall map of London and its vicinity; Harker had just finished pinning several photographs to this map, pictures showing some of the various properties Dracula had just purchased through his solicitors, and which were indicated on the map by red circles in ten locations.
Dracula, using an antique quill pen and a pot of ink, was just signing the last paper required of him.
As he did so he was saying: "I do so long to go through the crowded streets of your mighty London, to be in the midst of the whirl and rush of humanity, to share its life, its change—its death—"
On that final word he pushed the completed deed across to Harker, who folded it and applied a seal of hot wax.
"There. You, Count, are now the owner of the estate called Carfax, at Purfleet."
Moving to the wall map, the young solicitor indicated one of the photographs he had just tacked up. This one showed an ancient house of stone.
Dracula nodded.
Harker turned back to the table, where some additional photographs, not yet mounted, lay mixed up with the other paperwork.
"I've also brought pictures of some of the other houses—forgive my curiosity, sir, but as your solicitor in London, it may be helpful for me to know—why purchase ten houses, distributed around the city? Is this some strategy of investment, intended to increase the market value of all the properties? Or—"
Dracula meanwhile had drawn closer to the table; and on happening to look down from the wall map, he saw something there, immediately before him, that froze him almost motionless.
A single spasmodic movement of his hand, involuntary reaction to tremendous shock, upset the inkpot, sending a great stain, reddish brown like drying blood, rushing across the table's surface.
The count's hand, pointy-nailed and abnormally hairy on the palm, moved much more swiftly than the spill, to rescue one object from the spreading ink and hold it up.
Harker, gazing into the man's face, was astonished once again—it seemed to him for a moment that he was looking at a corpse. Such was the intensity of Dracula's concentration upon the photograph now in his hand.
The count's lips moved, and a whispering, altered voice came forth.
"The luckiest man who walks on this earth is one who finds—true love." And now, at last, he raised his compelling blue eyes from the picture to gaze at Harker.
That young man, in some confusion over this latest turn of events, stared at the photograph in puzzlement, and then conducted a rapid search of his own inner pockets.
"Ah—I see you have found—Mina. I had thought she was lost, but somehow her picture must have got in among the other photographs. We are to be married, as soon as I return to England."
Even as he uttered those last words Harker suddenly turned his head, squinting at the room's open door, beyond which lay a dark hallway. For a moment it had seemed to the young man that he had heard, almost unimaginably faint, the rustle of feminine garments, the sound of women's laughter.
But perhaps the sound had been only an illusion, a trick of wind, or of mice squealing and scampering in the old walls. Certainly Dracula gave no sign of being aware of any other presence. He set down Mina's photo, carefully choosing a dry spot on the table.
Feeling the need to make conversation, Harker inquired: "Sir, are you married?"
The count was still staring at Mina's picture, and the answer was slow in coming.
"I was… ages ago, it seems. Unfortunately she died."
"I'm very sorry."
"But perhaps she was fortunate. My life at its best is… misery." Carefully picking up the photograph of Mina once again, he handed it over to Harker. "She will no doubt make a devoted wife."
Harker, murmuring something awkward in the way of an acknowledgment, replaced the image where it belonged, deep in an inner pocket of his coat.
Dracula, briskly rubbing his hands together, was suddenly all business. "And now, my dear young friend, it would be good if you would write some letters. It will doubtless please your friends to know that you are well, and that you look forward to getting home to them."
"Sir?"
"Write now, if you please. Two letters at least, I think. One to your future partner Mr. Hawkins; another to… any loved ones you may have. Say that you shall stay with me until a month from now."
The young solicitor was taken aback and had to struggle to keep from showing his disappointment openly. Lamely he asked: "Do you wish me to stay so long?"
"I desire it much." The strange blue eyes grew very hard. "Nay, I will take no refusal. There is much I would have you tell me—about London. About England and all her people."
Taking note of his visitor's continued reluctance, the count persevered. "And when your master, employer—call Mr. Hawkins what you will—engaged that someone should come here on his behalf, it was understood that my needs only were to be consulted. I have not stinted. Is it not so?"
The sharp-nailed hand pushed forward on the table several sheets of writing paper and envelopes; Harker took note that all were of the thinnest foreign post. Whatever he might write on them could easily be read, even after the envelopes were sealed.
Still he felt he could do nothing, in the circumstances, but bow his acceptance.
Dracula smiled; once more he was all graciousness.
"But you must be tired. I am remiss as a host; your bedroom is all in readiness, and tomorrow you shall sleep as late as you will. I have to be away until the afternoon; so sleep well and dream well!"
And Harker retired, noting in his journal that he found himself "all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!"
Having slept for a few hours, rather uneasily though without any obvious cause of disturbance, Harker awoke to bright sunlight coming in. He got up, and gazed for a time at the empty, utterly deserted, half-ruined courtyard beneath the windows of his rooms. Here and there weeds grew through the pavement, and dust had drifted into all the corners. The archway built and carved into a dragon's shape seemed an enigma worthy of comparison to the Sphinx.
All was quiet in the hallway outside Harker's door and, indeed, throughout the whole castle, as far as he could tell; never yet had he seen or heard any movement or talk of servants.
He washed, and dressed himself, and returned to the room where he had supped the night before. There he found a cold breakfast laid out, with coffee kept hot by the pot being placed on the hearth.
On the table was a card, bearing a message in Dracula's hand:
I have to be absent for a while. Do not wait for me.
—D.
Harker was, as he thought, rapidly becoming accustomed to oddities. He fell to and enjoyed a hearty meal. When he had done, he looked for a bell, that he might let the servants know that he had finished; but he could not find one.
Pouring himself more coffee, he sat for a while considering the odd deficiencies in the house, which contrasted so sharply with the extraordinary evidences of wealth. At this meal the table service was again of gold, so beautifully wrought that Harker thought it must be of immense value. The curtains and upholstery of the chairs and sofas in both his rooms, and the hangings of the bed, were of the costliest and most beautiful fabrics. They were centuries old, Harker thought, having seen something like them in the old palace at Hampton Court.
But there were certainly peculiarities. For example, in none of the rooms that he had seen so far was there even the simplest mirror; it seemed he would have to get out the little shaving glass from his bag before he could either shave or brush his hair.
Even stranger, he had not yet seen a servant anywhere, or heard a human voice or movement, other than his own or Dracula's, near the castle. There were only occasional bird songs, and the howling of wolves, to accompan
y the intermittent moaning of the wind around the windows and the battlements.
Having finished his coffee, Harker wrote the letters his host had requested and sealed them in their envelopes—where, he observed, they were as transparently readable as he had expected.
That task accomplished, he looked about for something to read—he did not like to set out attempting to explore the castle without the count's express permission.
His own rooms contained absolutely nothing in the way of books or newspapers; going out into the hall and tentatively trying another door, he was pleased to discover a sizable library, neatly kept and furnished.
And in the library, to Harker's great delight, were a vast number of English books, whole shelves full of them, and bound volumes of magazines and newspapers. The place had a pleasant air of use and occupation. A table in the center was littered with English magazines and newspapers, though none of very recent date.
The books were of the most varied kind—history, geography, politics, botany, geology, law—all relating to England and English life and customs and manners.
After spending a pleasant hour or so in the library, Harker returned to his own quarters. There he entered an account of his recent experiences and impressions in his journal, which he was still determined to keep as faithfully as possible.
11 May. I began to fear as I wrote in this book that I was getting too diffuse; but now I am glad that I went into detail from the first, for there is something so strange about this place and all in it that I cannot but feel uneasy. I wish I were safe out of it, and that I had never come. It may be that this strange night existence is telling on me; but would that were all! If there were anyone to talk to, I could bear it, but there is no one. I have only the count to speak with, and he
Harker broke off at that point, unable or unwilling to set down his own half-formed fears and notions.
Having again sought unsuccessfully in the apartment for a mirror of any kind, he brought out his own small shaving mirror from his trunk and hung it near the window, where the light was best. Realizing that it would be pointless to try to summon a servant, he built up the smoldering fire a little himself and put a pan of water on the hearth to heat.
Bram Stoker's Dracula Page 4
