“Before your father left for his final trip, he pulled me aside. He looked scared. He told me . . . he told me no matter wha’ happen’d, I was ta never allow you ta return ta Transylvania, nor tell you about his wish,” she said. “I gave him my word, but he still wouldn’t give me t’ reason why,” Clara continued. “When you told me he’d died . . .”
She pressed her hands to her mouth, shutting her eyes as tears began to fall. I wanted to comfort her, but I was frozen with astonishment at her words.
“I wanted ta tell you then, but I remembered t’ look on his face. He said no matter wha’. It was like he knew he wouldn’t come back, ’n he wanted ta protect you,” Clara whispered, looking at me with tearful eyes. “I prayed you’d never have cause ta return to Transylvania.”
I recalled how strangely Father had acted before his last trip. He told me he was going to attend a lecture at the Hungarian Academy of Sciences in Budapest. But Father was a terrible liar, and he had barely been able to meet my eyes when he informed me of this. I’d known that he was hiding something. I confided in Abe, and together we decided to follow him to try and determine what he was really up to. When we arrived at the village where he stayed for the night, it was too late.
I had long since concluded that he’d gone to Transylvania to research the veracity of vampires’ existence in the region, and he didn’t want to tell me or Abe because of our mutual skepticism. But with Clara’s words, I now knew there was something more. Father somehow knew that I would want—or need—to return to Transylvania. Why? What had he been hiding? And why hadn’t he told me any of this?
As my shock faded, it was replaced by a sense of betrayal and anger. I’d been close with Father, and I always assumed he never hid anything from me. Clara should have told me. If I had known, perhaps I would have begun investigating vampires years ago instead of immersing myself in denial.
I looked up at Clara, my face hot with anger, but her agonized expression quelled my indignation.
Clara was quite loyal. She had always been extremely protective of me, and she just wanted to honor my father and his wishes. It was no fault of her own that he held her to such a promise.
Her desperate eyes were trained on my face, her body stiff, as if bracing herself for my anger. I got to my feet, stepping forward to embrace her. I felt her shoulders sag with relief, and she leaned in to my embrace.
“I’m sorry, Mina. Robert loved you, ’n he seemed so frightened for you.”
“It’s all right, Clara. I just . . . I just wish he had confided in me,” I said, releasing her.
My shock, anger and sense of betrayal had now given way to a heavy fatigue. There was no time to come to terms with all that had happened tonight, and I needed to rest before the next day’s journey.
“I need to sleep before we leave,” I said, stifling a yawn.
“You’re still goin’?” Clara asked, her formerly apologetic tone now sharp with disbelief and a hint of anger. “Mina, your father—”
“Is gone,” I bit out, a sharp pain searing my chest at the words. “His secrecy has served no benefit. He is dead, Jonathan’s been abducted, and a threat I didn’t want to believe exists is here in London. If Father wanted to keep me safe, he should have been honest with me. Transylvania is where the answers are, and where Jonathan’s been taken. And that is where I must go.”
10
The Demeter
I slept fitfully, my dreams filled with images of Jonathan’s disoriented face, the vampire’s black gaze, and the thick fog surrounding the carriage before it vanished on the bridge.
I awoke just as the first rays of sunlight filtered into my bedroom. I slowly sat up, my eyes still heavy with fatigue. But when the memories of the previous night’s events flooded my mind, I stumbled out of bed.
I washed and put on a beige traveling dress, securing my hair in a bun and topping it with a hat before heading to the dining room with my packed bag.
Clara and Abe were already dining on a breakfast of muffins, fruit, cold meat and tea. They both seemed to have slept as little as I had; Abe’s eyes were bleary as he gave me a nod of greeting. He excused himself to get us a cab, but before he left Clara gave him a warm farewell embrace. She murmured something in his ear, and he stiffened at whatever was said, before slipping from the room.
“What did you tell him?” I asked, once he left and we were alone.
“Somethin’ he already knows,” she said cryptically, placing a warm cup of tea in my hands. Her eyes were shuttered; I knew that she had no intention of divulging what she said to Abe.
“I’ve left several notes in my room,” I said, returning to the matter at hand. “One is for Horace, explaining my absence so he can make arrangements for a substitute to take my place while I’m away. The second is for any general visitors who might call. The third is a very reluctant note of apology to Mary Harker,” I added, attempting a bit of levity as I gave her a small smile.
“When’ll you be back home?” Clara asked, not at all amused, her face tight with worry.
“When I have Jonathan,” I replied. Clara searched my eyes, but the determination she saw in them made her fall silent. She expelled a weary sigh and reached out to touch my cheek, giving me a sad smile.
“You’ve always been stubborn . . . even when you were just a lass,” she said. “Please be safe.”
“I will,” I replied solemnly, reaching up to squeeze her hand.
Moments later, Clara stood in the doorway, watching as I climbed into a cab next to Abe. Her face was pale with anxiety, and she didn’t return the reassuring smile I gave her as the cab clattered away.
When our cab dropped us at the entrance to the port of Tilbury in Essex, Seward was already there, his bag at his side. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his features marred with fretfulness. After exchanging polite greetings, we waited for Arthur.
It seemed as if we were waiting for quite some time, and I was starting to wonder if Arthur had decided against coming when the Holmwood carriage approached, pulling to a stop directly in front of us. The carriage driver stepped out to open the passenger door.
Arthur exited, his arm around Lucy, who moved stiffly in tandem with her husband. Her eyes were back to their natural brown, though they were dazed and fatigued. She was smartly dressed in a forest green traveling dress, her brown hair secured in a bun, and the veiled hat that rested on her head partially obstructed her face. The only thing off about her appearance was her oddly pale skin and the jerky movement of her limbs; Arthur seemed to completely shoulder her weight as they moved.
“I gave her the sedative you prescribed,” Arthur said to Abe as they reached us. “Once we are on the ship, I will have to give her an additional dosage. I fear it is the only way to keep her calm.”
“I understand,” Abe said, looking at Lucy with concern.
“Our journey is only a few hours,” Arthur continued, now addressing us all. “But in his message to me this morning, Captain Harper informed me that we can make use of his and two officers’ cabins for the duration. That will allow us a place to discuss our—present dilemma—without being overheard . . . and I can keep Lucy away from curious eyes.”
I studied Lucy, whose head was now resting on Abe’s shoulder, her visage bearing the eerie calm of the heavily sedated. There was no trace of the dangerous creature who had lunged at me the previous night. Her cool brown eyes slid to me, and I thought I saw something dark shift in her eyes, like a dragon being stirred from its slumber, before it was gone again, and I swiftly looked away.
We headed through the port, which was bustling at this early hour. Ships of various sizes clogged the harbor, their pointed masts clustered so closely together that I was reminded of a forest of pine trees. Dockhands and cranes alike loaded crates of cargo on to the anchored ships, while even more ships drifted into the harbor. The air here was damp with the salty muskiness of the Thames, the sky gray with the promise of a storm.
As we walked, I once agai
n felt a cold prickle on the back of my neck. It was the same sensation I’d felt at both the cemetery and the ball, and I stopped in my tracks, whirling to scan the port.
“Mina? Are you all right?” Abe asked. He and the others had halted as well, regarding me with concerned frowns.
I took another look around, but other than curious glances from some of the dockhands, there appeared to be nothing or no one out of the ordinary. The sensation was gone now, and I wondered if the feeling had just been in my mind. Perhaps my fatigue and anxiety from all that had transpired the night before made me abnormally aware of my surroundings.
“Yes,” I said hastily, hurrying forward to join them, but Abe’s perceptive gaze lingered on my face.
We approached the Demeter, the largest of the ships anchored, looming above the rest like a mighty colossus, its sails fluttering in the light breeze. A harried young man approached, removing his hat at the sight of me and Lucy. He looked like a boy stretched to a man’s height, with a spattering of freckles, a mop of ginger hair, and green eyes that shone with both youth and kindness.
“Mister Holmwood?” he asked. At Arthur’s nod, he continued. “I’m George, first mate. The captain said I’m ta take care of ya. I’ll escort ya t’your quarters. Afraid they’re a bit rough,” he added apologetically. “But ’tis only for a few hours. We rarely take passengers across the Channel.”
“That is quite all right,” Arthur politely returned. “We are grateful to be accommodated on such short notice.”
George took my bag and led us across the gangway, across the wide deck of the ship and down the steep ladders that led to the cabins.
Arthur and Lucy were to share the captain’s cabin, while Abe and Seward settled into George’s cabin, and I stayed in the second officers’ cabin. My cabin was not as run down as we had been warned, and though it was minuscule, I found it rather quaint, furnished with a small bed and desk, and smelling of the sweat of the sea.
I set my bag down onto the narrow bed, reaching inside to unearth a betrothal photograph of myself and Jonathan that I’d carefully packed. In the photograph, Jonathan and I sat next to each other, gazing politely at the camera.
I remembered the day we took the photograph well. I had hated the whole affair, with Mary hovering behind the photographer, constantly ordering me to adjust my posture and sit like a proper lady. Jonathan kept me at ease the entire time by whispering jokes into my ear; I could now detect a faint trace of a smile that tugged at my lips in the photo.
Taking in Jonathan’s image, I traced the outline of his face, filled with a sudden surge of worry and dread. Where was he right now?
I will bring you home safe, Jonathan, I thought. I promise.
* * *
When I went up to the main deck, I found Arthur standing alone by the rails, his expression distant as he watched the activity of the port below. I hesitated, not wanting to disturb him, and I started to turn back around.
“Mina. Please,” he said, gesturing to the empty spot next to him. “Your presence would be agreeable.”
I obliged him, and we stood in companionable silence for a moment, taking in the Thames and the bustle of the port around us, before he spoke.
“My father did not want me to marry Lucy,” he said. I was startled by such a personal revelation, considering that we had only just been acquainted, but I remained silent. “He thought her family was not suitable enough to be paired with the Holmwoods. I did not care. She was full of life. It was as if the sun itself followed her wherever she went . . .” he trailed off, and then blinked, as if surprised that he had spoken his thoughts out loud. “My apologies, Mina. I do not usually speak so plainly. Please do not feel as if you have to—”
“There’s no need to apologize,” I interrupted gently, giving him a kind smile. “Please. Tell me about her.”
“Lucy wanted children quite desperately,” he continued, after a long pause. “That is what our row was about. We had only just been married. I wanted to wait until my business had grown a bit. Lucy was always passionate, and she often stormed out during our rows. When she left this last time, I did not think to go after her right away; I was quite angry myself. When she did not return . . .” he trailed off again, his pale eyes glistening with tears. “If I had just gone after her.”
“You didn’t know, Arthur,” I said. “You couldn’t have possibly known.”
Arthur didn’t respond, taking off his spectacles to clean them with a handkerchief before returning his focus to the port.
“We went on holiday to Venice last year. We were walking along the Grand Canal to watch the sunset, and she turned to me, her eyes were filled with tears. I asked her what was the matter. She told me that she had never been more happy; that she wanted to remember that moment forever. I keep wondering . . . did she know? Did she know what would happen to her?”
“You’ll have your happy moments again,” I insisted, my heart aching for him.
“You do not have to say that,” Arthur replied, with a sad smile. “We do not even understand what this is. I know her chances of recovery are minute. There have been moments of lucidity, when she is still my Lucy. This morning, as I got her dressed, she looked at me, and she said, ‘Arthur, you have to let me go. I cannot live like this.’” His voice broke. “But you were right, Mina. She would have wanted to help. She had—has—a kind soul. We take much for granted,” he continued, with a sigh. “We assume that everything we have will always remain so. There is still hope for you and your Jonathan. God willing, my Lucy can help you find him.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, both moved by his words and praying that he was right; that there was hope for Jonathan.
We fell into a solemn silence. Seward and Abe soon came up onto the deck to join us, and the captain approached us. Captain William Harper was a grizzled man in his fifties, with graying black hair and a thick untamed beard. He had the rough weathered look of a man who spent more of his life at sea than on land, but his gray eyes were amiable, and I took an instant liking to him.
“Thank you for providing us transport to Calais,” Arthur said politely, giving him a grateful smile.
“I am happy to help. Your father was a friend,” Captain Harper replied. “You and your friends are my honored guests. I must warn you, these skies have me nervous. There was no sign of a storm when we arrived this morning. I’m certain we can get across the Channel before it hits. We should arrive in Calais later this afternoon. I hope you get to your relative in time,” he added, his voice softening with sympathy.
Arthur had informed Captain Harper that we needed to get to France as quickly as possible to visit a sick relative. It was a necessary lie, as we could hardly tell him the real reason for our need to leave England so hastily.
“We hope so as well, thank you,” Arthur said, holding Captain Harper’s eyes, giving away no indication of the lie.
“George will come and fetch you from your cabins for a late breakfast,” Captain Harper said. “I should warn you, I have a large crew for this journey, and many of them have taken ill with fever; they’re mostly confined to the sailors’ berths. You are all free to move about the ship at will, just avoid the berths, the illness is contagious.”
After he left us, we went down to his cabin to talk without the risk of being overheard. The cabin was the largest of the three we’d settled in, yet it could still barely fit all three of us. Lucy was sleeping when we entered, her body curled protectively beneath the thin blanket, facing away from us. Arthur sat down on the bed next to her, careful not to disturb her sleeping form. Seward and I remained next to the door, while Abe moved over to the small desk and perched on its edge.
“There is still much we do not know,” Abe said. “When I experiment, I begin with what I do know.”
“We do the same with our investigations,” Seward said. “Start with the facts and work backwards.”
“Well, we know that Jonathan was abducted from the Langham last night by vampires. Who else was ta
ken?” I asked.
“Nicholas Lewiston, Edward Johnson, and Fannie Herman,” Seward replied, reciting from memory. “I went to Scotland Yard before I came home last night to see if there was any new information. Mister Lewiston and Johnson are solicitors; Fannie Herman was a maid in the cloakroom. Their families are devastated. They don’t know why anyone would abduct them, and they doubted they’d just leave London without telling anyone.”
I frowned, baffled. What would vampires want with a cloakroom maid and three solicitors?
“Jonathan’s law partner wanted to discuss something with him, right before he was abducted,” I said, recalling how Peter Hawkins had pulled him aside. “And he mentioned that there were robberies at his office.”
“Can you send a wire to Mister Hawkins when we get to Calais—find out what they discussed?” Seward asked. “If any of it’s related, it could help us determine why he was taken.”
I nodded, and Abe continued, speaking quickly now, as if his words were scrambling to keep pace with his thoughts. “The Ripper murders go back several years, and they are still occurring, unbeknownst to the public. The victims are the poor and wealthy alike. Right around the time the Ripper murders began, there were accounts of other murders and disappearances all throughout Europe. Berlin, Paris, Amsterdam . . . a fortnight ago, Lucy was bitten by a vampire. Now, there could be many explanations. The murders could just be that—murders. I know from lore, my research, and witness accounts that vampires need blood to survive. Naturally, they would kill their victims to obtain their blood—and there is reproduction, of course. All biological forms reproduce, that could explain why they have moved from the countryside to the cities. More humans to transform.”
“Why the abductions?” I asked. “It’s not necessary to abduct someone for the transformation to take hold—look at Lucy.”
Another silence fell, and I closed my eyes to concentrate. I recalled a technique Father had once taught me when I struggled to solve a difficult mathematical equation one of my tutors had me solve. Use the heuristic method, Father had told me. Think of the simplest solution. With every problem, it is always the simplest solution.
The Beast of London: Book 1 of the Mina Murray series Page 8
