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The
crowd melted away, after the bustling fashion common to arrival platforms,
and I was beginning to feel uneasy, lest I might miss my guest, when a
sweet-faced, dainty looking girl stepped up to me, and after a quick glance
said, "Dr. Seward, is it not?"
"And
you are Mrs. Harker!"
I answered at once, whereupon she held out her hand.
"I
knew you from the description of poor dear Lucy, but. . ." She stopped
suddenly, and a quick blush overspread her face.
The
blush that rose to my own cheeks somehow set us both at ease, for it was a
tacit answer to her own.
I got her luggage, which included a typewriter, and we took the
Underground to Fenchurch Street, after I had sent a wire to my housekeeper
to have a sitting room and a bedroom prepared at once for Mrs. Harker.
In
due time we arrived.
She knew, of course, that the place was a lunatic asylum, but I could
see that she was unable to repress a shudder when we entered.
She
told me that, if she might, she would come presently to my study, as she had
much to say.
So here I am finishing my entry in my phonograph diary whilst I await
her. As yet I have not had the chance of looking at the papers which Van
Helsing left with me, though they lie open before me. I must get her
interested in something, so that I may have an opportunity of reading them.
She does not know how precious time is, or what a task we have in
hand. I must be careful not to frighten her.
Here she is!
MINA
HARKER'S JOURNAL
29
September.--After I had tidied myself, I went down to Dr. Seward's study. At
the door I paused a moment, for I thought I heard him talking with some one.
As, however, he had pressed me to be quick, I knocked at the door,
and on his calling out, "Come in," I entered.
To
my intense surprise, there was no one with him. He was quite alone, and on
the table opposite him was what I knew at once from the description to be a
phonograph. I had never seen one, and was much interested.
"I
hope I did not keep you waiting," I said, "but I stayed at the
door as I heard you talking, and thought there was someone with you."
"Oh,"
he replied with a smile, "I was only entering my diary."
"Your
diary?"
I asked him in surprise.
"Yes,"
he answered.
"I keep it in this."
As he spoke he laid his hand on the phonograph.
I felt quite excited over it, and blurted out, "Why, this beats
even shorthand! May I hear it say something?"
"Certainly,"
he replied with alacrity, and stood up to put it in train for speaking.
Then he paused, and a troubled look overspread his face.
"The
fact is," he began awkwardly."I only keep my diary in it, and as
it is entirely, almost entirely, about my cases it may be awkward, that is,
I mean. . ." He stopped, and I tried to help him out of his
embarrassment.
"You
helped to attend dear Lucy at the end.
Let me hear how she died, for all that I know of her, I shall be very
grateful. She was very, very dear to me."
To
my surprise, he answered, with a horrorstruck look in his face, "Tell
you of her death?
Not for the wide world!"
"Why
not?"
I asked, for some grave, terrible feeling was coming over me.
Again
he paused, and I could see that he was trying to invent an excuse. At
length, he stammered out, "You see, I do not know how to pick out any
particular part of the diary."
Even
while he was speaking an idea dawned upon him, and he said with unconscious
simplicity, in a different voice, and with the naivete of a child,
"that's quite true, upon my honor.
Honest Indian!"
I
could not but smile, at which he grimaced."I gave myself away that
time!" he said.
"But do you know that, although I have kept the diary for months
past, it never once struck me how I was going to find any particular part of
it in case I wanted to look it up?"
By
this time my mind was made up that the diary of a doctor who attended Lucy
might have something to add to the sum of our knowledge of that terrible
Being, and I said boldly, "Then, Dr. Seward, you had better let me copy
it out for you on my typewriter."
He
grew to a positively deathly pallor as he said, "No!
No!
No!
For all the world.
I wouldn't let you know that terrible story.!"
Then
it was terrible.
My intuition was right!
For a moment, I thought, and as my eyes ranged the room,
unconsciously looking for something or some opportunity to aid me, they lit
on a great batch of typewriting on the table.
His eyes caught the look in mine, and without his thinking, followed
their direction. As they saw the parcel he realized my meaning.
"You
do not know me," I said.
"When you have read those papers, my own diary and my husband's
also, which I have typed, you will know me better. I have not faltered in
giving every thought of my own heart in this cause. But, of course, you do
not know me, yet, and I must not expect you to trust me so far."
He
is certainly a man of noble nature.
Poor dear Lucy was right about him. He stood up and opened a large
drawer, in which were arranged in order a number of hollow cylinders of
metal covered with dark wax, and said,
"You
are quite right.
I did not trust you because I did not know you.
But I know you now, and let me say that I should have known you long
ago. I
know that Lucy told you of me. She told me of you too.
May I make the only atonement in my power? Take the cylinders and
hear them.
The first half-dozen of them are personal to me, and they will not
horrify you. Then you will know me better.
Dinner will by then be ready. In the meantime I shall read over some
of these documents, and shall be better able to understand certain
things."
He
carried the phonograph himself up to my sitting room and adjusted it for me.
Now I shall learn something pleasant, I am sure. For it will tell me
the other side of a true love episode of which I know one side already.
DR.
SEWARD'S DIARY
29
September.--I was so absorbed in that wonderful diary of Jonathan Harker and
that other of his wife that I let the time run on without thinking.
Mrs. Harker was not down when the maid came to announce dinner, so I
said, "She is possibly tired. Let dinner wait an hour," and I went
on with my work. I had just finished Mrs. Harker's diary, when she came in.
She looked sweetly pretty, but very sad, and her eyes were flushed with
crying. This
somehow moved me much. Of late I have had cause for tears, God knows!
But the relief of them was denied me, and now the sight of those
sweet eyes, brightened by recent tears, went straight to my heart. So I said
as gently as I could, "I greatly fear I have distressed you."
"Oh,
no, not distressed me," she replied.
"But I have been more touched than I can say by your grief. That
is a wonderful machine, but it is cruelly true. It told me, in its very
tones, the anguish of your heart. It was like a soul crying out to Almighty
God. No
one must hear them spoken ever again!
See, I have tried to be useful. I have copied out the words on my
typewriter, and none other need now hear your heart beat, as I did."
"No
one need ever know, shall ever know," I said in a low voice. She laid
her hand on mine and said very gravely, "Ah, but they must!"
"Must!
but why?"
I asked.
"Because
it is a part of the terrible story, a part of poor Lucy's death and all that
led to it.
Because in the struggle which we have before us to rid the earth of
this terrible monster we must have all the knowledge and all the help which
we can get. I think that the cylinders which you gave me contained more than
you intended me to know.
But I can see that there are in your record many lights to this dark
mystery. You
will let me help, will you not? I know all up to a certain point, and I see
already, though your diary only took me to 7 September, how poor Lucy was
beset, and how her terrible doom was being wrought out.
Jonathan and I have been working day and night since Professor Van
Helsing saw us. He is gone to Whitby to get more information, and he will be
here tomorrow to help us.
We need have no secrets amongst us. Working together and with
absolute trust, we can surely be stronger than if some of us were in the
dark."
She
looked at me so appealingly, and at the same time manifested such courage
and resolution in her bearing, that I gave in at once to her wishes.
"You shall," I said, "do as you like in the matter.
God forgive me if I do wrong!
There are terrible things yet to learn of. But if you have so far
traveled on the road to poor Lucy's death, you will not be content, I know,
to remain in the dark.
Nay, the end, the very end, may give you a gleam of peace.
Come, there is dinner. We must keep one another strong for what is
before us.
We have a cruel and dreadful task.
When you have eaten you shall learn the rest, and I shall answer any
questions you ask, if there be anything which you do not understand, though
it was apparent to us who were present."
MINA
HARKER'S JOURNAL
29
September.--After dinner I came with Dr. Seward to his study. He brought
back the phonograph from my room, and I took a chair, and arranged the
phonograph so that I could touch it without getting up, and showed me how to
stop it in case I should want to pause. Then he very thoughtfully took a
chair, with his back to me, so that I might be as free as possible, and
began to read. I put the forked metal to my ears and listened.
When
the terrible story of Lucy's death, and all that followed, was done, I lay
back in my chair powerless.
Fortunately I am not of a fainting disposition.
When Dr. Seward saw me he jumped up with a horrified exclamation, and
hurriedly taking a case bottle from the cupboard, gave me some brandy, which
in a few minutes somewhat restored me.
My brain was all in a whirl, and only that there came through all the
multitude of horrors, the holy ray of light that my dear Lucy was at last at
peace, I do not think I could have borne it without making a scene. It is
all so wild and mysterious, and strange that if I had not known Jonathan's
experience in Transylvania I could not have believed.
As it was, I didn't know what to believe, and so got out of my
difficulty by attending to something else. I took the cover off my
typewriter, and said to Dr. Seward,
"Let
me write this all out now.
We must be ready for Dr. Van Helsing when he comes.
I have sent a telegram to Jonathan to come on here when he arrives in
London from Whitby. In this matter dates are everything, and I think that if
we get all of our material ready, and have every item put in chronological
order, we shall have done much.
"You
tell me that Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris are coming too. Let us be able to
tell them when they come."
He
accordingly set the phonograph at a slow pace, and I began to typewrite from
the beginning of the seventeenth cylinder.
I used manifold, and so took three copies of the diary, just as I had
done with the rest. It was late when I got through, but Dr. Seward went
about his work of going his round of the patients.
When he had finished he came back and sat near me, reading, so that I
did not feel too lonely whilst I worked. How good and thoughtful he is.
The world seems full of good men, even if there are monsters in it.
Before
I left him I remembered what Jonathan put in his diary of the Professor's
perturbation at reading something in an evening paper at the station at
Exeter, so, seeing that Dr. Seward keeps his newspapers, I borrowed the
files of `The Westminster Gazette' and `The Pall Mall Gazette' and took them
to my room. I remember how much the `Dailygraph' and `The Whitby Gazette',
of which I had made cuttings, had helped us to understand the terrible
events at Whitby when Count Dracula landed, so I shall look through the
evening papers since then, and perhaps I shall get some new light.
I am not sleepy, and the work will help to keep me quiet.
DR.
SEWARD'S DIARY
30
September.--Mr. Harker arrived at nine o'clock. He got his wife's wire just
before starting.
He is uncommonly clever, if one can judge from his face, and full of
energy. If
this journal be true, and judging by one's own wonderful experiences, it
must be, he is also a man of great nerve. That going down to the vault a
second time was a remarkable piece of daring. After reading his account of
it I was prepared to meet a good specimen of manhood, but hardly the quiet,
businesslike gentleman who came here today.
LATER.--After
lunch Harker and his wife went back to their own room, and as I passed a
while ago I heard the click of the typewriter. They are hard at it.
Mrs. Harker says that knitting together in chronological order every
scrap of evidence they have. Harker has got the letters between the
consignee of the boxes at Whitby and the carriers in London who took charge
of them. He is now reading his wife's transcript of my diary. I wonder what
they make out of it.
Here it is.
. .
Strange
that it never struck me that the very next house might be the Count's hiding
place! Goodness
knows that we had enough clues from the conduct of the patient Renfield! The
bundle of letters relating to the purchase of the house were with the
transcript.
Oh, if we had only had them earlier we might have saved poor Lucy!
Stop!
That way madness lies! Harker has gone back, and is again collecting
material. He says that by dinner time they will be able to show a whole
connected narrative.
He thinks that in the meantime I should see Renfield, as hitherto he
has been a sort of index to the coming and going of the Count.
I hardly see this yet, but when I get at the dates I suppose I shall.
What a good thing that Mrs. Harker put my cylinders into type! We never
could have found the dates otherwise.
I
found Renfield sitting placidly in his room with his hands folded, smiling
benignly. At
the moment he seemed as sane as any one I ever saw. I sat down and talked
with him on a lot of subjects, all of which he treated naturally.
He then, of his own accord, spoke of going home, a subject he has
never mentioned to my knowledge during his sojourn here. In fact, he spoke
quite confidently of getting his discharge at once. I believe that, had I
not had the chat with Harker and read the letters and the dates of his
outbursts, I should have been prepared to sign for him after a brief time of
observation.
As it is, I am darkly suspicious. All those out-breaks were in some
way linked with the proximity of the Count. What then does this absolute
content mean?
Can it be that his instinct is satisfied as to the vampire's ultimate
triumph? Stay.
He is himself zoophagous, and in his wild ravings outside the chapel
door of the deserted house he always spoke of `master'. This all seems
confirmation of our idea.
However, after a while I came away. My friend is just a little too
sane at present to make it safe to probe him too deep with questions.
He might begin to think, and then. . .So I came away.
I mistrust these quiet moods of of his, so I have given the attendant
a hint to look closely after him, and to have a strait waistcoat ready in
case of need.
JOHNATHAN
HARKER'S JOURNAL
29
September, in train to London.--When I received Mr. Billington's courteous
message that he would give me any information in his power I thought it best
to go down to Whitby and make, on the spot, such inquiries as I wanted. It
was now my object to trace that horrid cargo of the Count's to its place in
London. Later,
we may be able to deal with it. Billington junior, a nice lad, met me at the
station, and brought me to his father's house, where they had decided that I
must spend the night.
They are hospitable, with true Yorkshire hospitality, give a guest
everything and leave him to do as he likes. They all knew that I was busy,
and that my stay was short, and Mr. Billington had ready in his office all
the papers concerning the consignment of boxes.
It gave me almost a turn to see again one of the letters which I had
seen on the Count's table before I knew of his diabolical plans.
Everything had been carefully thought out, and done systematically
and with precision. He seemed to have been prepared for every obstacle which
might be placed by accident in the way of his intentions being carried out.
To use and Americanism, he had `taken no chances', and the absolute
accuracy with which his instructions were fulfilled was simply the logical
result of his care. I saw the invoice, and took note of it.`Fifty cases of
common earth, to be used for experimental purposes'. Also the copy of the
letter to Carter Paterson, and their reply. Of both these I got copies.
This was all the information Mr. Billington could give me, so I went
down to the port and saw the coastguards, the Customs Officers and the
harbor master, who kindly put me in communication with the men who had
actually received the boxes.
Their tally was exact with the list, and they had nothing to add to
the simple description `fifty cases of common earth', except that the boxes
were `main and mortal heavy', and that shifting them was dry work. One of
them added that it was hard lines that there wasn't any gentleman `such like
as like yourself, squire', to show some sort of appreciation of their
efforts in a liquid form. Another put in a rider that the thirst then
generated was such that even the time which had elapsed had not completely
allayed it. Needless to add, I took care before leaving to lift, forever and
adequately, this source of reproach.
30
September.--The station master was good enough to give me a line to his old
companion the station master at King's Cross, so that when I arrived there
in the morning I was able to ask him about the arrival of the boxes. He, too
put me at once in communication with the proper officials, and I saw that
their tally was correct with the original invoice. The opportunities of
acquiring an abnormal thirst had been here limited. A noble use of them had,
however, been made, and again I was compelled to deal with the result in ex
post facto manner.
From
thence I went to Carter Paterson's central office, where I met with the
utmost courtesy.
They looked up the transaction in their day book and letter book, and
at once telephoned to their King's Cross office for more details. By good
fortune, the men who did the teaming were waiting for work, and the official
at once sent them over, sending also by one of them the way-bill and all the
papers connected with the delivery of the boxes at Carfax. Here again I
found the tally agreeing exactly.
The carriers' men were able to supplement the paucity of the written
words with a few more details.
These were, I shortly found, connected almost solely with the dusty
nature of the job, and the consequent thirst engendered in the operators. On
my affording an opportunity, through the medium of the currency of the
realm, of the allaying, at a later period, this beneficial evil, one of the
men remarked,
"That
`ere `ouse, guv'nor, is the rummiest I ever was in.
Blyme!
But it ain't been touched sence a hundred years. There was dust that
thick in the place that you might have slep' on it without `urtin' of yer
bones. An'
the place was that neglected that yer might `ave smelled ole Jerusalem in
it. But the old chapel, that took the cike, that did! Me and my mate, we
thort we wouldn't never git out quick enough. Lor', I wouldn't take less nor
a quid a moment to stay there arter dark."
Having
been in the house, I could well believe him, but if he knew what I know, he
would, I think have raised his terms.
Of
one thing I am now satisfied.
That all those boxes which arrived at Whitby from Varna in the
Demeter were safely deposited in the old chapel at Carfax. There should be
fifty of them there, unless any have since been removed, as from Dr.
Seward's diary I fear.
Later.--Mina
and I have worked all day, and we have put all the papers into order.
MINA
HARKER'S JOURNAL
30
September.--I am so glad that I hardly know how to contain myself. It is, I
suppose, the reaction from the haunting fear which I have had, that this
terrible affair and the reopening of his old wound might act detrimentally
on Jonathan.
I saw him leave for Whitby with as brave a face as could, but I was
sick with apprehension. The effort has, however, done him good.
He was never so resolute, never so strong, never so full of volcanic
energy, as at present. It is just as that dear, good Professor Van Helsing
said, he is true grit, and he improves under strain that would kill a weaker
nature. He
came back full of life and hope and determination.
We have got everything in order for tonight.
I feel myself quite wild with excitement. I suppose one ought to pity
anything so hunted as the Count. That is just it.
This thing is not human, not even a beast. To read Dr. Seward's
account of poor Lucy's death, and what followed, is enough to dry up the
springs of pity in one's heart.
Later.--Lord
Godalming and Mr. Morris arrived earlier than we expected. Dr. Seward was
out on business, and had taken Jonathan with him, so I had to see them.
It was to me a painful meeting, for it brought back all poor dear
Lucy's hopes of only a few months ago. Of course they had heard Lucy speak
of me, and it seemed that Dr. Van Helsing, too, had been quite `blowing my
trumpet', as Mr. Morris expressed it.
Poor fellows, neither of them is aware that I know all about the
proposals they made to Lucy.
They did not quite know what to say or do, as they were ignorant of
the amount of my knowledge. So they had to keep on neutral subjects.
However, I thought the matter over, and came to the conclusion that
the best thing I could do would be to post them on affairs right up to date.
I knew from Dr. Seward's diary that they had been at Lucy's death, her real
death, and that I need not fear to betray any secret before the time.
So I told them, as well as I could, that I had read all the papers
and diaries, and that my husband and I, having typewritten them, had just
finished putting them in order. I gave them each a copy to read in the
library. When
Lord Godalming got his and turned it over, it does make a pretty good pile,
he said, "Did you write all this, Mrs. Harker?"
I
nodded, and he went on.
"I
don't quite see the drift of it, but you people are all so good and kind,
and have been working so earnestly and so energetically, that all I can do
is to accept your ideas blindfold and try to help you. I have had one lesson
already in accepting facts that should make a man humble to the last hour of
his life. Besides,
I know you loved my Lucy. . ."
Here
he turned away and covered his face with his hands. I could hear the tears
in his voice.
Mr. Morris, with instinctive delicacy, just laid a hand for a moment
on his shoulder, and then walked quietly out of the room. I suppose there is
something in a woman's nature that makes a man free to break down before her
and express his feelings on the tender or emotional side without feeling it
derogatory to his manhood.
For when Lord Godalming found himself alone with me he sat down on
the sofa and gave way utterly and openly. I sat down beside him and took his
hand. I
hope he didn't think it forward of me, and that if her ever thinks of it
afterwards he never will have such a thought.
There I wrong him. I know he never will.
He is too true a gentleman. I said to him, for I could see that his
heart was breaking, "I loved dear Lucy, and I know what she was to you,
and what you were to her.
She and I were like sisters, and now she is gone, will you not let me
be like a sister to you in your trouble? I know what sorrows you have had,
though I cannot measure the depth of them.
If sympathy and pity can help in your affliction, won't you let me be
of some little service, for Lucy's sake?"
In
an instant the poor dear fellow was overwhelmed with grief. It seemed to me
that all that he had of late been suffering in silence found a vent at once.
He grew quite hysterical, and raising his open hands, beat his palms
together in a perfect agony of grief. He stood up and then sat down again,
and the tears rained down his cheeks. I felt an infinite pity for him, and
opened my arms unthinkingly. With a sob he laid his head on my shoulder and
cried like a wearied child, whilst he shook with emotion.
We
women have something of the mother in us that makes us rise above smaller
matters when the mother spirit is invoked. I felt this big sorrowing man's
head resting on me, as though it were that of a baby that some day may lie
on my bosom, and I stroked his hair as though he were my own child. I never
thought at the time how strange it all was.
After
a little bit his sobs ceased, and he raised himself with an apology, though
he made no disguise of his emotion.
He told me that for days and nights past, weary days and sleepless
nights, he had been unable to speak with any one, as a man must speak in his
time of sorrow. There was no woman whose sympathy could be given to him, or
with whom, owing to the terrible circumstance with which his sorrow was
surrounded, he could speak freely.
"I
know now how I suffered," he said, as he dried his eyes, "but I do
not know even yet, and none other can ever know, how much your sweet
sympathy has been to me today. I shall know better in time, and believe me
that, though I am not ungrateful now, my gratitude will grow with my
understanding. You will let me be like a brother, will you not, for all our
lives, for dear Lucy's sake?"
"For
dear Lucy's sake," I said as we clasped hands."Ay, and for your
own sake," he added, "for if a man's esteem and gratitude are ever
worth the winning, you have won mine today. If ever the future should bring
to you a time when you need a man's help, believe me, you will not call in
vain. God grant that no such time may ever come to you to break the sunshine
of your life, but if it should ever come, promise me that you will let me
know."
He
was so earnest, and his sorrow was so fresh, that I felt it would comfort
him, so I said, "I promise."
As
I came along the corridor I say Mr. Morris looking out of a window. He
turned as he heard my footsteps.
"How is Art?" he said.
Then noticing my red eyes, he went on, "Ah, I see you have been
comforting him. Poor old fellow!
He needs it.
No one but a woman can help a man when he is in trouble of the heart,
and he had no one to comfort him."
He
bore his own trouble so bravely that my heart bled for him. I saw the
manuscript in his hand, and I knew that when he read it he would realize how
much I knew, so I said to him, "I wish I could comfort all who suffer
from the heart.
Will you let me be your friend, and will you come to me for comfort
if you need it? You will know later why I speak."
He
saw that I was in earnest, and stooping, took my hand, and raising it to his
lips, kissed it.
It seemed but poor comfort to so brave and unselfish a soul, and
impulsively I bent over and kissed him. The tears rose in his eyes, and
there was a momentary choking in his throat.
He said quite calmly, "Little girl, you will never forget that
true hearted kindness, so long as ever you live!" Then he went into the
study to his friend.
"Little
girl!"
The very words he had used to Lucy, and, oh, but he proved himself a
friend.
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