European Travel for the Monstrous Gentlewoman

by Theodora Goss

  DIANA: I know! It was great! I wish you would sound like me more often.

  If only Catherine and Beatrice had been there! Then perhaps they could have fought Hyde and his henchmen. But there was just herself and Justine—she did not think she could count on Diana, who called Hyde “Dad” and berated him for—what? Not sending a postcard? As though that were somehow a worse crime than, you know, murder.

  DIANA: I would have fought with you, if you’d wanted me to. He’s my dad, but I know what a bastard he is. And you’re my sister. I’m not likely to forget that, with you telling me what to do all the time!

  BEATRICE: I wish we could have been with you as well! But we were still on the train to Vienna and did not yet know that you had disappeared under mysterious circumstances.

  Mary followed Hyde’s lantern, walking under what looked like a portcullis into—was it a courtyard? It must be, since she was walking on gravel. The moon had risen, and it hung over them like a shilling, or maybe here an Austrian krone, full and bright. It was surrounded by clouds, and she could not see the stars. Here too a mist swirled around them as they walked. And then there was a large wooden door with iron fittings, which creaked when Hyde pushed it open. She entered after Diana, then held the door open for Justine. If only she had Catherine’s eyes, and could see in the dark!

  MARY: I don’t remember wishing I could see like you!

  CATHERINE: Well, you should have. It would have been so useful, don’t you think? Honestly, I don’t know how you all do it, with your limited vision and sense of smell. Although some days in London, I wish I could have my nose removed! Ugh. . . .

  They passed into darkness. Now they were truly inside, in some sort of large space because Mary could hear boots echoing. Hyde’s lantern did little to dispel that darkness, which seemed to gather around them like a great void. Then suddenly, light blazed. Hyde was standing by the wall, holding a cord, and—was it possible? The room was filled with light. Electric light, from naked bulbs around the room. They were placed, Mary noticed with surprise, in the iron sconces that had once held torches along the walls. She looked around—this must be the castle’s great hall. It had stone walls rising to dark wooden beams, and a hearth large enough to roast a stag in. A long table ran down the middle of the hall, with benches on both sides. It was large, gloomy, and cold. Mary shivered. Sir Walter Scott might have been thrilled, but all she wanted to do was get out of this place as soon as possible.

  At one end of the long table, she noticed, were set plates and bowls, napkins and cutlery.

  “Come, Miss Van Helsing,” said Hyde, leading Lucinda to a chair at the end of the table, the only chair in the room. “Sit and rest, for I’m sure you’re tired after your long journey. And if you will all join her,” he said to the rest of them, “I’ll call for dinner to be served. It may take a little time to heat again—as I said, we thought you’d arrive earlier today. But now that you’re finally here, we can show you that we’re not entirely uncivilized, even in Styria.”

  Styria! That was to the south, wasn’t it? Justine had been right. But what did Hyde mean by “we”? He was alone—could they attack him now? But what good would that do? He would surely call for Herr Ferenc, or Dénes, or both. And perhaps there were others around. . . . Mary did not like that “we.” Diana was already seated on one of the benches, but like her, Justine had hung back.

  “Act now or wait?” she whispered to Justine.

  “It is better to wait,” Justine whispered back. “We do not know what sort of situation we have fallen into. And surely we cannot escape tonight, in the fog and darkness. We must eat and rest, then plan.”

  “Well?” Hyde called. “Are you coming? I can promise you nourishing fare, although nothing as fancy as Viennese cuisine.”

  Mary could not think of anything else to do, not at the moment, so they might as well eat. Anyway, she had to figure out how Hyde had known they were in Vienna, why he had brought them here, why he was in Styria in the first place. The last time she had seen him, he had been headed for Newgate. What in the world was he doing in the Austro-Hungarian Empire?

  Hyde rang a bell that was sitting on the table. Before it had stopped echoing around the room, a door opened in the far wall. In walked a girl, about Diana’s age, wearing an embroidered cap and apron—probably a servant, but in a distinctively rural style, completely different from Hannah’s smart sophistication. She was pretty, with brown hair in two long braids, and Mary thought that although she came to the table and stood by Lucinda’s chair calmly enough, underneath she was frightened.

  “Ágnes, I would like you to bring dinner as quickly as possible,” said Hyde. “Vacsorázni, you understand? Our visitors are hungry.”

  “Igen . . . yes, Hyde úr,” she replied with an awkward curtsey. “My brother, he already heating the gulyásleves.” If she was a servant, she was not used to being one. Her English was heavily accented.

  “Excellent,” said Hyde, paying no attention to her nervousness. “Then you know already what you must do, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Ágnes. She rolled up her left sleeve and closed her eyes.

  What in the world was he going to do? Justine had already sat down on the bench next to Diana. Mary was still standing. She had the distinct feeling that something terrible was about to happen, and she could not do anything to stop it.

  “There’s nothing to be frightened of,” said Hyde. And well he might—Ágnes was shaking like a leaf! All the blood seemed to have drained out of her face. From his coat pocket, he took a small leather case, then set it on the table and opened it. He lifted out something metallic—Mary could see it glinting in the light. A scalpel! The last time she had seen him with a scalpel in his hand, he had been in the warehouse by the Thames, preparing to remove Justine’s brain.

  “You will not harm that girl!” Justine had risen and was looking as angry as Mary had ever seen her, as angry as it was perhaps possible for Justine to be.

  “I will do whatever I please, here in my own house,” said Hyde. As he spoke, Mary heard a distinctive click and turned—there was Herr Ferenc standing by the door they had come through, with a rifle trained on Justine. “Ferenc úr there has a particular reason for being loyal to me, as has his daughter Ágnes.” He looked at the girl. “You have agreed to this, have you not, of your own free will?”

  Wordlessly, Ágnes nodded.

  Agreed to what? But in a moment it was clear. The scalpel flashed, and then a line of red ran down Ágnes’s arm. As quickly as a housecat springs on its prey, Lucinda turned, seized the girl’s arm, and began sucking at the cut.

  Ágnes gave a little scream, but stood still, seemingly resolute.

  How had Hyde known that Lucinda needed blood and arranged for it beforehand? Who was Ágnes? He had called her Herr Ferenc’s daughter, which also made her Dénes’s sister. How had he persuaded her to become—well, Lucinda’s dinner? Mary looked at Justine, who was still standing but sat back down after a moment. Justine looked at her and shrugged, as though she had no answers to give either. And Diana—well, Diana was looking on in fascination.

  “That is so gross,” she said after a moment.

  “But necessary,” said Hyde. “Although I think Miss Van Helsing has had enough for now. You don’t want to drain your food supply, do you?” Gently, he withdrew Ágnes’s arm.

  Lucinda stared up at him, blinking. The blood smeared around her mouth looked particularly lurid under the electric lights. “U bent zelf Lucifer,” she said. Then, in a gesture that caused Mary to shudder, she licked the blood off her mouth, as a child might lick a smear of treacle.

  “Lucifer, am I?” said Hyde, chuckling. Rapidly and expertly, he bandaged Ágnes’s arm with gauze from the leather case. “While I cannot claim any facility in Dutch, your meaning is perfectly clear. However, there is one who has a much better claim to that name than I do! You shall meet him, by and by.”

  Whatever did he mean? Mary so was tired of mysteries and lies. “Tell us
why we’re here,” she said. She was glad to hear that her voice sounded as contemptuous as possible. She had been worried it would come out weak or wavering. She was starting to feel a sort of despair she had not yet felt on their journey. No one knew where they were, not Irene, not Mina. It was just the four of them—well, three since Lucinda scarcely counted in her state—in a castle somewhere in Styria. They had no weapons, no means of transportation. What in the world were they going to do?

  Just then, a young man slightly older than Ágnes came in, bearing a large tureen. It was obvious, from the resemblance, that he too was a member of the Ferenc family. A younger brother, perhaps? He was followed by Dénes, carrying a platter heaped with what looked like sausages—which is what they turned out to be, along with fried onions and mushrooms. It all smelled—well, heavenly. Despite the gravity of the situation, Mary heard her stomach growling.

  “Excellent!” said Diana. She, at least, did not sound tired or dispirited. As soon as the platter was set down, she grabbed a sausage with her fingers and started chewing on it.

  The young man served them a red soup filled with pieces of chicken and dumplings of some sort. Should she refuse Hyde’s hospitality? But she was so very hungry! Mary tried a spoonful—it was excellent, although a little spicy for an English palate. She noticed that Diana was on her second sausage, but Justine was eating only the onions and mushrooms. Surely that wasn’t enough, after the long day they’d had?

  “You can have my soup,” she whispered to Justine. “I’ll eat all the chicken and then pass it to you. The dumplings are very good—nothing like Knödel!” Justine just shook her head.

  “Miss Frankenstein, you’re not eating,” said Hyde. “Is the food not to your taste?”

  He seemed genuinely concerned and solicitous. What a charlatan he was! If he had truly been concerned about Justine—or any of them—he would not have brought them here at all. To think that this man had once been her father! But no, better not to think about that. Mary put a sausage and some of the mushrooms on her plate. They were delicious.

  “She doesn’t eat meat,” said Diana. “I thought you knew stuff like that, or are you not as smart as you pretend to be?”

  “Ah, of course,” said Hyde, ignoring the second half of her statement. “Miss Frankenstein is not the only one in this castle who subsists on a vegetable diet. Ágnes, can you fry up some eggs, and maybe some tomatoes? Tojás és . . . I don’t remember the word for tomatoes. You know, red gyümölcs.” He cupped his hands, as though holding a ball.

  “Paradicsom,” said Ágnes. Then she curtseyed again and left the room. Her brothers stayed, Dénes with his arms crossed, leaning back on his heels.

  “Why have you brought us here?” asked Mary. If she wanted answers, she would have to talk to him, however much she would rather avoid it.

  “Yeah,” said Diana. “What’s the deal, Dad? You could just have told us you wanted to see us.”

  “I don’t think Mary would have come willingly,” said Hyde. His smile was so much like Diana’s! It was sickening.

  DIANA: There’s nothing wrong with my smile!

  MARY: This isn’t about you. It’s about him. I’m not criticizing you.

  DIANA: Well, you kind of are. If his smile is sickening, and it looks like mine—

  MARY: I’m sorry, that’s not the way I meant it.

  DIANA: Did you just apologize? All right, who’s kidnapped the real Mary. . . .

  “And you see,” Hyde continued, “I did not abduct you, much as your presence brings me pleasure—quite the family reunion, isn’t it? My interest was in Miss Van Helsing. I was fortunate in that you extracted her from the Maria-Theresa Krankenhaus. And very clever of you that was, Diana. You get that from me, I think, although your mother was clever in her own way. Dénes would have had a much harder time doing so. After that, you simply came along with Miss Van Helsing—a bonus, as it were.”

  Diana clutched her knife. “My mother was—”

  “What do you intend to do with Lucinda?” asked Justine, reaching over and putting a hand on Diana’s arm. She sounded calm and collected—thank goodness, because someone had to be. Diana put her knife down with a clatter and crossed her arms. Mary could tell that she was angry, just as she could tell that despite her air of control, Justine was tired and dispirited.

  “Nothing worse than what her own father did to her,” said Hyde. From the case on the table, he extracted a hypodermic syringe. “If you would help me, János?” he said to the younger brother.

  “You wouldn’t dare!” said Mary. She rose, not knowing exactly how she was going to help Lucinda—but she would do something!

  She heard a click behind her and turned. There stood Herr Ferenc, with the rifle pointed at her. Damn. So much for Hyde’s statement that he had no intention of harming them! She did not doubt that he would allow Herr Ferenc to shoot them if necessary.

  At the sight of the hypodermic, Lucinda snarled—for a moment, Mary thought she was going to attack Hyde. But Dénes moved behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, restraining her in the chair. His brother rolled up Lucinda’s right sleeve, then held her wrist while Hyde drew blood from the crook of her elbow. Lucinda did not struggle, but she hissed and glared at each of them in turn.

  The younger brother drew back, frightened, even as he continued to hold her wrist, but Hyde seemed merely amused. “Thank you, Miss Van Helsing,” he said, when the syringe was filled with blood. “This will be put to a good use, I assure you. My patient will be most grateful for your contribution to his recovery.”

  His patient? Whom could he mean? Mary looked at Justine. She shook her head and frowned, as though to signify that she had no idea either.

  Just then, Ágnes returned with what looked like a plate of fried eggs and tomatoes, with a couple of savory biscuits. She put it in front of Justine. Diana immediately took one of the biscuits and bit into it.

  “Well,” said Hyde. “I have important business to conduct. Ágnes will show you to your rooms once you’re finished eating. I suggest you do not try to escape. Ferenc úr and his sons will be on the watch. They are excellent hunters, used to both this castle and the surrounding woods. I would not want them to shoot you by accident. I am sure you are far too sensible to attempt such a thing, Mary, in this mountainous region, in a country you are not familiar with. I’m aware that I have not been a very good father to you, but I do not want either of my daughters shot.”

  Mary tried to think of a biting retort, but she was so tired! By the time he had left the room, she still had not thought of a suitable reply.

  “He didn’t even bring us here on purpose!” said Diana indignantly. “He just wanted her blood. Why does he want her blood?” She scrutinized Lucinda, as though trying to figure it out.

  “Get your hands off Justine’s supper!” said Mary. Diana had been about to take the other biscuit. “We all need to eat, so we’re strong enough for . . . well, whatever comes next. And I suggest we continue this discussion in private. So finish whatever’s on your plate, and then let’s go up to our rooms, wherever they are.” She looked at Ágnes doubtfully. Who was this girl, that simply let Hyde open up a vein to feed Lucinda?

  Diana slurped up the rest of her soup directly from the bowl, then licked it clean with her tongue. “All right, I’m done.”

  “And I,” said Justine. She had not eaten everything on her plate—there was a fried egg and some mushrooms left. But at least she had eaten; that was something. It would have to do.

  Mary realized that she did feel better for the meal—but weary to the bone. What they needed, more than anything else, was sleep. She rose. “All right, let’s go. Ágnes—” How much English did the girl understand? Mary had no idea. “Can you take us to wherever we’re going to sleep tonight?”

  Ágnes nodded, then gestured for them to follow her. Justine rose and went to Lucinda. As she approached, Dénes stepped back, but continued to watch her warily. “Are you all right?” asked Justine. “Did he h
urt you?”

  Lucinda stared back at her with unfocused eyes, as though she were not seeing Justine at all. Low, almost under her breath, she sang a song that sounded like the sort of thing a mother might sing to her child—some sort of nursery rhyme, perhaps. “Slaap kindje slaap. Daar buiten loopt een schaap . . .”

  The song echoed around the room. Somehow, Mary found it stranger and more chilling than anything else that had happened that day. Lucinda’s madness was getting worse, wasn’t it? And no wonder, considering everything that had happened in the last few days. But what were they going to do? How were they going to get her out of here?

  “Come on,” said Justine, holding out her hand. Lucinda took it and rose from the chair, then followed Justine as a child might follow its mother, stumbling a little. Mary followed her and Diana came behind, last because she had quickly eaten Justine’s egg and grabbed a final sausage.

  “What! We have to keep our energy up, right?” she whispered when Mary gave her an exasperated look.

  “Here way,” said Ágnes, holding open the door for them. Then she led them along a narrow corridor. To Mary’s surprise, it too had been electrified, with a few bare, dismal bulbs in the sconces along the stone walls. If this method of lighting was the future, as some claimed, Mary did not think much of it. Give her the warm glow of gas lamps! They followed Ágnes up a stone staircase to the second floor. Here there were no longer electric lamps, only the moonlight that came through small, arched windows. The room to which Ágnes led them seemed to have no modern innovations at all—it looked as ancient as the castle, with high ceilings that disappeared into the darkness. Although the moon was full and bright, Mary could not make out much in its light—just the general shapes of furniture. But as soon as they were all in the room, Ágnes struck a match and lit the candles in an iron candelabra standing to one side of the stone fireplace. It reminded Mary of the candelabras that stood by the altar in St. Marylebone Church. Then Ágnes lit its double on the other side of the fireplace. Finally, she lit the fire itself, which had already been laid.