Hunger and physical pain mean little to me, in any case. My Dark Companion is inside, urging me onwards. He is all that matters. How I am to do what must be done, I know not. I can only follow his guidance.
No-one is here except the housekeeper, who tells me that Uncle André and Miklos have gone on some expedition and are not expected home for a week or two, at the least. It is no surprise. My uncle has always adored exploring. I am glad he is not here; it spares me the pain of telling him that his brother is dead. It helps me, also, that I do not have to make elaborate explanations for my actions.
There is a letter, unopened, from Abraham Van Helsing to my uncle. Uncle must have left before it arrived. I feel a strange urge to read it. I should resist... but what if it contains something important?
Now I must write no more, but make all ready for the journey.
* * *
LETTER, ABRAHAM VAN HELSING TO ANDRÉ KOVACS (Not received by him)
Amsterdam, 28 August
My Dear André,
You will forgive me, I beg you, for the unconscionably long time it takes for me to answer your letter. My mind has been on other matters; dark sad matters, the clouds of which are only now beginning to move aside, leaving me to think of the outside (my friends, my work) rather than the inside (my sorrow).
My poor dear wife has died. It shames me to admit that my grief is more for her life than her death, but it is so. As you know she has been in the care of asylum nurses for many years; often she has not even known me. For a long time, I have been a widow in all but the physical thread of her life; now the thread is severed, it is to me less a great shock than a little sigh of relief. Yet still cause, you understand, for much recollection and regret.
But enough; it is over. I write to express my great interest at your archaeological expedition. However, a word of caution. We have learned, as you so rightly say, of the evil reality that lies behind folklore and myth. Dracula was real. Of course the Scholomance existed – or exists!
Whilst the Devil doubtless keeps it too well hidden for an innocent mortal to stumble upon, I do not doubt your ingenuity in overcoming such obstacles. As to the consequences, should you actually find it, have you considered what these might be?
My conclusion, should you seek my opinion – not that you are under any obligation to do so – is this. The Scholomance is best left well alone. Don’t go!
I anticipate your report in due course. But if you are of a mind to listen to me for once, I entreat you once again. Please do not go.
Your friend,
Abraham Van Helsing
* * *
LETTER, ELENA KOVACS TO MINA HARKER
Buda-Pesth, 1 September
My Dear Madam Harker,
I write to you in the direst, most urgent of circumstances. Something terrible has befallen us. I hardly know how to write it. My poor dear father Emil is dead – dead, from a terrible accident. He went out alone at dusk to sketch – though I and the farmer warned him against it, for there are wild animals in the forests – and he was attacked, not by wolves, but by sheepdogs. They are trained to kill strangers near the sheep, as you know. He was so badly savaged that nothing could be done to save him. No doubt the farmer and the shepherds are as horrified and grief-stricken as I.
But I could not stay. I came straight home, only to find that my Uncle André and Miklos have gone away. Little do they know what sad news awaits them on their return! The housekeeper will tell them, of course. As for me, I cannot stay here alone. I write to implore you, Madam Mina, for the sake of the deep regard in which I hold you, and the kindness you have shown me, to let me come and stay with you for a while. I ask something so presumptuous only in the direst necessity. I would be no trouble – indeed, would do anything to earn my keep! If it is impossible, I understand, but if it is in your power to look kindly upon my request I would be forever grateful – you know not how grateful! I can write no more.
Yours ever,
Elena Kovacs
* * *
LETTER, MINA HARKER TO ELENA KOVACS
Exeter, 5 September
My dear Elena,
But of course you must come to us! My dear, you must feel utterly distraught and very alone. We are all grieved and shocked by your news. It is a terrible reminder that we can never take the dominion of man over nature for granted, or think ourselves safe just because we are civilised, especially in such wild areas of the world as the Carpathians. We will let Professor Van Helsing know at once, for he is a great friend of your uncle and will wish to commiserate. I hope this blow will not come too hard upon him after the recent loss of his wife.
Now, will you let us know if we can do anything to assist in your journey? Whether you need, be it documentation, railway timetables, the means to purchase tickets – anything, do not hesitate to ask. We have become quite expert in the business of travel! Once you arrive in England, you may take a train to Exeter or we can meet you in London. You have only to let us know.
There will be no need to “earn your keep”; you will be our guest, of course, for as long as you wish. However, as you mention it, there is one matter in which you could help me greatly, as a friend. Quincey’s nurse has left us to get married, and with his delicate health he needs constant attention. Alice Seward – Dr Seward’s wife – has been helping us, but cannot do so indefinitely. If you could be his companion, until a replacement is found – and knowing you, I feel certain that you and Quincey will be perfect friends – my debt would be to you, and not the other way round. Indeed, you would save my life!
Your friend,
Mina Harker
Chapter Five
MINA HARKER’S JOURNAL
11 September
Elena has arrived. Jonathan and I went by train to London to meet her, leaving Quincey in Alice Seward’s care. I did not want to leave him, for he has a chill, but seems somewhat better now. Mary and I took trouble to make the largest guest room very pleasant and welcoming, so Elena will be comfortable. I am so glad to have her here, she will be such a help and a good companion to both my son and myself – indeed to us all.
Her demeanour on arrival was quiet; no doubt she was tired from travelling and still shocked by the death of her father, Emil. (We barely knew him, but it shames me now to recall how I recorded in my diary that I did not like him! How shallow such sentiments seem, when the object of them cannot defend himself). However, after a rest and a good meal, she brightened and spoke briefly of her poor father’s death. She shed a few tears, but spoke so easily of him that I have great hopes for her recovery.
As to his funeral, that was the only matter she seemed unwilling to discuss. In the absence of her uncle, she has left it in the hands of the Szekely farmers, or rather the Hungarian authorities. This makes me fear that she has indeed fled, as a means of avoiding the actuality of her father’s death. But she is young still, and has led so sheltered a life, that I cannot blame her. On the contrary, she will find no blame or judgement as our guest, but only our care and love!
I told her that we, and Van Helsing, have had no luck so far in locating her uncle and Miklos. Van Helsing had a letter from Professor Kovacs, informing him that they had gone into the mountains near Hermannstadt. We can only wait until they return from their expedition – and meanwhile, protect Elena from all anxiety.
After Elena had gone to bed, I sat in the parlour with Alice for a while, speaking of our guest. Alice will return to Dr Seward in a day or two, once Elena has recovered from her journey. “I will be sorry to leave Quincey,” Alice told me, “but it will be good to return home to my husband.”
“We are so grateful for your help,” I said. “We will miss you, but it is unfair of us to have kept you away from home for so long.”
“I do hope Elena will be a help to you. She’s little more than a child herself. There is something dark inside her... I think she has suffered a great deal. I can always come to you again, if you need me.”
Alice’s words troubled me a l
ittle, for I trust her implicitly. I do so like her. I admit, we had reservations when, five years ago, Dr Seward first announced he was marrying her; a childless widow ten years older than himself, a comfortably-built creature of a certain grace but no great beauty, and her hair already turning grey. But once we became acquainted, we were quickly won over. She is one of the kindest, wisest souls I have ever met. It was quite a strain at first, remembering never to mention Lucy’s name in her presence. Once, Lucy’s name did slip out, and I was mortified; but Alice took me aside, and said so sweetly, “Mina, I know all about Lucy. I know that she was beautiful, which I am not, and that my dear John loved her, even though she was promised to another. And I know how she died, and that it broke his heart. Oh yes, John has told me everything. That is why he needs me; because he can tell me such things, and I will never be shocked or disbelieving.”
I was very startled by this, yet relieved that she knew our secret story of Dracula. It meant we could be open and trusting with her, and not have to watch every word. Alice smiled and went on, “I know you must wonder why John is marrying me, and not a girl as young, pure and lovely as Lucy, especially when it would be easy for a handsome, accomplished doctor like him to make such a match. The reason is simple. He dares not love another Lucy, for fear that she would be taken from him as Lucy was.” There was no bitterness in her voice as she said this, only warm understanding. “With me, he feels safe. He is a good, caring man, but he has his black moods when all that is bad in the world weighs upon him. He needs someone to protect him, someone who will never be torn away by another – be it rival or monster.”
That is Alice. Our rock! Proof that wisdom and good sense are far more valuable qualities in a wife than beauty – and all credit to Dr Seward for realizing it.
14 September
Alice has gone home, and Elena is settling in beautifully. She is such a dear, helpful girl. Quincey adores her. He has roses in his cheeks and loves his new companion. She enlivens him when he is strong enough to play; when he is tired and peevish, she soothes him. It is a delight to see them together; Quincey, as fair as an angel, his face rapt and intent on hers; Elena, neat and dark-haired, sitting with such demure grace as she reads to him. Her English is excellent; I have no fear of her leading Quincey into mistakes! Though once or twice I have heard him correct her, which made me smile.
I feel we will be soul-mates. I have had no truly close woman friend since we lost Lucy. Elena is, naturally, very different from Lucy – who in life was a sweet, passionately animated soul. Elena is quiet and demure, with large, dark, watchful eyes. A little wary of being in a new country, with its different customs. But often a smile dimples her cheek, and there is such kindness and intelligence in her face. I truly feel as if I have known her all my life – perhaps in another lifetime! Almost without exchanging words I feel very close to her. There is surely a bond between us!
16th September
We have had the most delightful day.
Jonathan was at work, of course, but Elena and I took Quincey for a walk. I feared it would be too much for him but he marched along like a little soldier and we went much further than we meant to. We are lucky to have the countryside within a few minutes’ walk of our house. It was such a beautiful day, warm without being too hot, the sun gleaming on the meadows and edging all the trees with soft golden light. The air was full of fluff and seeds, white gossamer! And late summer flowers are everywhere: roses in the gardens, wild flowers in the fields.
We stopped for a cream tea at a little cottage near the church, and had a long talk – the three of us – in the tea room. Quincey’s talk is very grown-up for his age. (I suppose that is due to him having, of necessity, to be with adults rather than other children. I hope he does not feel too deprived, but we cannot risk him being exposed to every childhood illness).
On the way back, Elena was very interested in the church and insisted on going inside the churchyard to read the gravestones. Parts are overgrown with long grass and cow parsley: so much life burgeoning among the lichen-covered stones. Indeed it is a bigger and more rambling place than I had realized, with long aisles that are invisible from the road and some remarkable tall gravestones with crosses and angels looking down. There are even sepulchres in hidden corners, monuments to the more influential families of the area. But these were overshadowed by dark yew and looked very dank and unkempt; I thought it would not be healthy for Quincey to explore them, and so suggested that we continue on our way. Strange, how Elena dragged her feet, as if she did not want to leave! I suppose she is thinking of her father.
She was not sombre as we walked back, however. On the contrary, she was flushed from the fresh air and positively glowing with health and good humour. I am glad. I hope she will not try too hard to resist the natural process of grief, then suffer for it.
Quincey did not want to be put down for his nap when we returned home, but Elena persuaded him. He was so well today – do I dare to hope he might shake off his ill-health and grow into a strong young man after all?
The evening, too, passed pleasantly. After dinner, we sat under the rose arbour with Jonathan and enjoyed the evening sunshine. The garden is so lovely just now. How perfect everything seems at present!
As I was preparing for bed, Elena came into our dressing room – Jonathan was already in bed – and we sat in our nightclothes before the mirror and combed each other’s hair, just as I used to do with Lucy. It made me feel like a girl again! We laughed and whispered as we stroked the long dark tresses of each other’s hair. Hers is darker than mine, and very long – I had not realized how long, for she wears it quite severely in the day – and very thick and silky.
This was such a pleasant end to a perfect day.
22nd September
I have had nothing to record for some days. How sweet life is when there is nothing worth writing about! Even now, I have only a dream to record. I shall keep it in its proper place by writing it down, rather than letting it grow to unnatural proportions in my imagination.
It has become quite a habit of mine and Elena’s, to talk in our nightclothes before we go to bed. Last night she seemed more than usually beautiful; there was a sparkle in her eyes and colour burning in her cheeks. As I brushed and stroked her wonderful hair, she caught my hands and said, “Madam Mina! You will never know how much I owe to you – how much I will yet owe – to your goodness and kindness in letting me stay. I am so happy here. Here I am free, as I never was free with my father. I love Quincey so much. I love all of you.” And to my surprise, she put her arms around my neck and hugged me, planting fervent kisses on my cheeks and neck. While I was pleased and flattered by her affection, there was also something in it that disturbed me – almost repelled me, in a way. As gently as I could, so as not to make it seem I rejected her embrace, I held her hands and eased her away.
“And we feel the same,” I said. “You have enriched our household beyond measure. Quincey could not ask for a better, more attentive companion. Indeed, we would like you to stay for as long as you possibly can. Permanently, if you wish, and if your uncle – who, I assume, is now your guardian – agrees. You will always have a home here.”
At this she wept, her tears falling upon my hands to sparkle there. Her complexion was brilliant – beautiful. She thanked me and thanked me.
Jonathan was already asleep when I lay down beside him. He has seemed terribly tired since we came back from our sojourn in the summer, so I did not disturb him. I lay awake for a while. Presently I began to feel that something invisible was buffeting the air around my head – like a bird or a great bat. This impression was so powerful that I fancied I could hear leathery wings beating. I sat up. This was not some strange form of headache. I could not say what it was, but when it did not stop I became alarmed.
In order not to disturb my husband, I went back into the dressing room, closed the door and lit a lamp. I sat down in front of the mirror. The strange flapping sensation went on. I looked at my own reflection; I l
ooked quite ordinary, apart from a slight frown... but then I saw, through some malicious trick of the light, what seemed a trace of a burn of my forehead, the unholy mark of the vampire. With a gasp I shut my eyes. The feeling worsened and I became dizzy, as if I were spiralling down a dark vortex.
It felt – I can think of no other way to describe it – it felt as if some force were trying to gain entry to my mind. As the intensity increased it was less a flapping than a steady pressure, a hand on my forehead. Hard fingertips with pointed nails. It seemed to me that the whole room was melting and running down around me like candle wax, while strange voices sighed and wailed in mournful disharmony. I felt... afraid, yes, but so caught up in these weird sensations that fear was the least of them. My sight darkened. I saw stars on the darkness. All these sensations wove around me, unpleasantly tight yet strangely sweet. I felt myself beginning to laugh. I could no longer see myself in the mirror, only darkness and two red stars...
It came to me suddenly that whatever the presence was, it had entered my soul, and I was no longer myself but something evil, utterly divorced from God’s grace. The moment I had this thought I began to fight it! I said, “No,” over and over again. With all my will I resisted this terrible entity, forcing it out. I prayed. I built a great golden wall in my mind, adorned with shining crosses, and so thrust the intruder back outside the walls, out of my soul!
Suddenly it was over. I felt the pressure leave me. There was a sighing flurry around me, as if something were whirling around me in frustrated rage. Then it flowed away from me, as mist might be sucked away by a draught. I came back to my senses, and all was quiet, as if nothing had happened.
I was very shaken, and went down to the pantry for a small glass of wine to steady myself. By the time I came upstairs again the whole experience was diminishing, and showing itself for what it was; a nightmare.
Dracula the Undead: A Chilling Sequel to Dracula Page 7