“Oh no, sir, she drank it neat when she needed it.”
“And no one else was in the house?”
“No.” There was something curious about the woman’s manner when she answered, and Holmes evidently saw it too, for his questioning became leading.
“Someone was expected, however?”
“I… I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
“Miss Lucy was expecting a visitor. Someone for whom you would all have to make yourselves scarce. A gentleman caller, perhaps?”
“Miss Lucy was engaged to be married… to Mr Holmwood.”
“Now Lord Godalming, of course,” Holmes said. “But that is not why she sent you from the room. That is not why she drugged the sherry and ordered you to drink it.”
The girl’s eyes darted about as she tried to piece together the puzzle.
“I offer you a chance to set the record straight,” Holmes said. “If you are completely honest with me, I shall see to it your good name is restored, and the other three maids, too, if they can be found. I may even be able to find you a situation more… suitable.” Holmes looked about the filthy room we had been shown to with a small measure of distaste.
“Wh—what is it you need to know?”
“I shall speak plainly with you, Miss Hobbs, as I hope you will with me. The only person who could have drugged you on that night was the person who instructed you to drink—Miss Lucy Westenra herself.”
The woman gasped.
“I do not believe for one moment that she meant you any harm,” Holmes said. “The arrangement had been made solely to get you out of the way, so that she could have some privacy. To go to such lengths, however, would mean that she intended to do something illegal, dangerous, or scandalous. As a lady’s maid in a relatively small staff, I am certain you would have overheard something, or perhaps even been taken into the confidence of your young lady. So, which was it? Illegal, dangerous, or scandalous?”
The young woman cast her eyes downwards and fumbled with her pinafore. “Scandalous,” she muttered.
“Ah. I was correct then when I mentioned a gentleman caller?”
She nodded.
“His name?”
“I… I don’t know; not his full name. I only know that he was foreign, an’ that Miss Lucy was sure her mother wouldn’t approve.”
“Was the man so disreputable that the knowledge of the liaison might bring on a sudden heart attack in Mrs Westenra?”
“Mrs Westenra had a bad heart, sir. The slightest shock could set her off, the doctors said. That’s why Miss Lucy said her ma couldn’t find out. She swore me—” The girl stopped speaking at once, and looked tremendously guilty.
“We agreed to speak plainly, Miss Hobbs,” Holmes said. “So, Lucy confided in you about her gentleman. You said you did not know his full name, which means you must have known part of it. Correct?”
She nodded again, nervously. “An initial, upon a letter he signed. It was a ‘D’, although I don’t know what it stood for.”
Holmes’s eyes sparkled. When he next spoke, I could tell that his mind was turning over the possibilities of the case even though he was still talking to the maid. “But I am certain you have guessed by now who he was, if you have followed the papers at all.”
“Miss Lucy would never… not with… a vampire.” She crossed herself.
“Count Dracula was no vampire, Miss Hobbs. He was a man, like any other, whose reputation has been besmirched even more than your own, for some transgression that we have not yet ascertained. I put it to you that Lucy Westenra had arranged to meet this man, regardless of what it might look like to the outside world. We cannot be certain that it was a romantic liaison, but let us assume, for now, that it was. She was as secretive as she could be, but somehow her mother suspected something, and forced her to confess the truth. Lucy told her, and Mrs Westenra flew into a rage so violent that she assaulted her own daughter and suffered a massive heart attack. You found her body on top of Lucy—this was no accident, but a product of a physical attack gone horribly wrong. Miss Westenra, devastated at her mother’s reaction, and perhaps feeling less inclined towards the love that binds mother and daughter, dusted herself down and prepared to meet this man anyway. She had already arranged the drugged sherry, probably intended for her mother. However, seeing that you four maids were now awake and distressed at the death of your mistress, Lucy instructed you to partake of the sherry, so that she could still meet the man despite the tragic circumstances.”
“She would not be so cold!”
“If that is so, then I wonder if perhaps the meeting was not a romantic one after all, but something else entirely. Maybe Lucy Westenra’s honour need not yet be questioned.”
“I wish that to be so, sir, more than anything. But…”
“But what? What more do you know that you have not told us?”
“I have a letter.”
I could see from the twitching of Holmes’s lips and the widening of his keen eyes that he had not anticipated this.
“Who is the letter from?”
“It is from this man, this ‘D’ to Miss Lucy.”
“And what does it describe?”
“Not much, but it seems to me to be a note between lovers, sir.”
“How did you come by it?”
“It was given to me with a bundle of others, to destroy. She trusted me, but I—I read it, sir. And what I saw was so shocking that I did not destroy it.”
“It was not your intention to blackmail your mistress?”
“No! What d’you take me for? I was just interested, that’s all, and then it just slipped my mind, until… well, after what happened, I thought I should keep hold of it, in case any of that Dutchman’s friends ever came knocking at my door.”
“We must see this letter.”
“I… no. I cannot. I will not blacken Miss Lucy’s name.”
“I would not have it so either, and if there is any way around it, I give you my solemn promise that I shall avoid such an outcome. But Miss Hobbs, lives have been lost as a result of this tryst, and more lives may yet be lost. Would you have that on your conscience?”
She thought about this, and then exhaled a bitter laugh. “It will cost you, sir, to have that letter.”
Holmes sighed, and I felt something of his frustration. It seemed that remuneration was ever a greater motivator than justice. He delved into his pockets and fetched out some coins.
“There are six shillings here,” he said.
“Begging your pardon, sir, but I’m tryin’ to feed my family on two shillings a day. It’ll cost you six pound, not six shillings.”
“Six pounds!” I interjected. Holmes at once held up a hand to stay me.
“I can have it for you later. When shall we meet?”
“You know the Vine Tavern at Mile End Gate?”
“No, but I shall find it.”
“Seven o’clock. I’ll meet you outside.”
“You shall have your money. But for that princely sum I must stipulate something else.”
“What?”
“When the time comes, you must testify in a court of law to what you have told me today.”
“No. I ain’t going to no court. I’ve kept my head down, sir, from that day to this, afraid that the Dutchman or one of his cronies would come find me, but they never has. Now you come here and ask me to stick my neck out? Not likely. This Dracula was a powerful fellow and the Dutch professor hunted him to the ends of the earth and killed him dead. I don’t want to end up like that.”
“If you will not testify, then we shall do without the letter. Unless…”
“’Less what?”
“Unless you will sign a sworn statement. It is as good as a testimony, but your whereabouts will remain a secret until Van Helsing is put behind bars for his crimes. I can guarantee you that much.”
She pondered this, weighing up the advantages of six pounds in hand against a frisson of danger. Eventually, we saw from the gleam in her
eyes and grudging nod that the scales had tipped in our favour.
“I’ll sign your papers,” she said. “But I trust you to keep your promise, as a gentleman.”
“Depend upon it.”
* * *
“So Dracula and Lucy Westenra were acquainted after all,” I said when we had returned to our cab. “Does this mean Dracula was in Whitby?”
“No, Watson. It is quite possible that he wrote to Miss Westenra previously, and that the letters may have played upon her mind. But I do not believe he ever set foot in Whitby. Miss Westenra’s hastily scribed memorandum, written on the night her mother died, must have been tampered with considerably, and some fantastic elements added after her death. The wolf that crashed through the window—a fiction! And one made all the more feasible by the discrediting of the maids. We must work out what Dracula and Lucy Westenra were about. Whatever it was, it was grave enough for Van Helsing to kill her over it.”
“You sound more certain than ever.”
“I am. Whatever is going on here, there is some great secret that Van Helsing is desperate remains hidden. It seems to me that Lucy found it out, or was on the cusp of doing so. After her death, when Van Helsing seized all of the papers from Hillingham, he was not doing so simply to hide evidence of his gross malpractice. He did it to hide something deeper. When we find out what that secret is, Watson, we shall have him!”
* * *
When we returned to Baker Street, we found a police constable at the front door, as Bradstreet had promised. Mrs Hudson met us on the stair outside our rooms, and handed Holmes a small parcel, and a message from Inspector Bradstreet. The package contained various papers, and Holmes beamed as he leafed through them, handing each of them to me in turn.
“The inspector has been industrious indeed,” said Holmes. “I always thought he lacked imagination, but he has acted upon his initiative to very helpful effect. He has not only had some success with Cotford, but has been to the office of Leverson & Critchley, the undertakers who arranged the offices of Lucy Westenra and her mother. Well, well… it seems that Mrs Critchley, the undertaker’s wife, remembers Van Helsing requisitioning all legal papers from the Westenra estate, and persuading Arthur Holmwood to give up his rights to them. It says here that the police coroner was refused access to Lucy’s body, and that Van Helsing was seen bribing him! The woman has signed this statement and agreed to testify if called. Bradstreet has not yet found the coroner in question, for he appears to be no longer in the employ of the Metropolitan Police. By the looks of things the good inspector has been turning the screws—we can only hope he has not attracted any undue attention in the process, for subtlety is not normally a byword of Scotland Yard. Look here also! What a fine fellow! He has found an original police report regarding the missing wolf from London Zoo. He has circled the date.”
“By Jove, Holmes,” I said. “The Dracula Papers tell us that the wolf went missing on the day of Mrs Westenra’s death. This date would suggest it occurred on the following day.”
“The only report in the Dracula Papers on the matter was a newspaper interview with the wolf-keeper. The erroneous date could easily be put down to an editorial error, but it proved most fortunate for Van Helsing’s version of events. I believe that, once Van Helsing struck upon the queer idea that Dracula could transform himself into a wolf, he went to great lengths to make this fiction appear reality; but these dates do not tally. We shall have to find out more. I want to review our evidence before meeting Miss Hobbs again tonight. Can you feel it, Watson? Those rogues fancied they were dealing us a great blow, but instead they have galvanised us! We shall have them yet.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE
Holmes did indeed visit Mile End Gate that night, and returned with the promised letter. Added to the cache that Inspector Bradstreet provided us, we took some heart once more. The evidence was scant, but Van Helsing could not yet be aware of it, and so we were grateful for every scrap.
Undated letter, received by Lucy Westenra on 17 September 1894
My dear,
I cannot express the joy that your letter brought to me, and how happy I am that we are finally to meet. I shall call on you this Sunday, as you asked, at nine o’clock. I am ashamed to insist upon secrecy, but no one can know that I am in the country at present, or I am certain I would find stiff opposition to my plans. It is of especial importance that Arthur Holmwood not learn of our meeting, for we are neither of us yet ready to face his questions. I am counting the hours until our meeting; until then, you have my utmost admiration.
Your servant,
D.
Holmes pored over this short letter for some time, leaving me to sit in silence wondering just what he could find so interesting. Eventually, he passed the letter back to me and explained his thinking.
“It is genuine. The page has been kept in poor conditions, so the provenance of the paper and any scent that may once have suffused it has been lost. There is no envelope and no postmark. It would be unlikely for a court of law to look favourably upon this as evidence were it not for the signed statement that I procured from Miss Hobbs, with no small difficulty.”
“So how can you be sure it’s genuine?” I asked.
“Simple. From the lack of creasing or curling, we can assume that the letter has been kept sandwiched between the pages of a book. This allows us to ascertain with reasonable accuracy just how much wear and yellowing the page should have commensurate with its age. Seven months have passed since this letter was supposedly written, and I would say that is a fair approximation.
“Next, look at the writing. The ink is expensive; it has barely faded, has a uniform flow, and dries to a red-brown sheen that speaks to the inclusion of cochineal and hydrosols in its manufacture. I have studied only three letters produced in similar ink during my cases, all of which were written by titled gentlemen, two of whom were minor royalty from the continent.
“Finally, look at the distinctive flourishes—some of the lower-case letter ‘s’s have the telltale cedilla. Yet even without those, note the odd, angular forms of the letters, and here they are coupled with Grecian capitals, written very ponderously… you can see where the ink is darker as he has deliberated over the letters. This is a man not used to writing in English, who is classically educated, and almost certainly of middle age. From the letter formations alone I would suggest the native language of the author to be one of those Eastern European tongues of the nation-states surrounding the Danube, the Balkans, or perhaps the Ottoman Empire. In short, Watson, all things considered I am confident that this letter was written by a Transylvanian nobleman whose name begins with the initial ‘D’, and there is only one such gentleman pertinent to our story. This is a breakthrough indeed, Watson, for it appears that the Count, so long the subject of our investigation, has finally revealed himself, speaking to us from beyond the grave.”
“And what does he say to us?” I asked, thrilling at the very thought of it—a part of me still thought of Count Dracula as some Un-Dead fiend, despite Holmes’s careful arguments to the contrary.
“Read the letter again, Watson. At first glance, it appears to be a suitor arranging a romantic tryst with another man’s fiancée. But there are other interpretations.”
I studied the missive once again.
“I suppose you’re right, Holmes,” I said. “Perhaps he wished to speak to Lucy about some secret regarding Arthur Holmwood… that would explain why he sought especial secrecy from him.”
“Indeed. And look also at the phrase, ‘I am certain I would find stiff opposition to my plans’. Note the use of ‘my plans’, not ‘our plans’. If this was a romantic plot he would have included Lucy in the arrangement. No, I suspect the opposition he expected would not have come from Holmwood, but from Holmwood’s associates—Van Helsing in particular.”
“So why keep the meeting a secret from Lucy’s mother, if it was innocent?”
“Perhaps because Mrs Westenra was alre
ady in the confidence of Van Helsing. More likely, however, because whatever Dracula had to say would cast uncertainty over Arthur Holmwood’s eligibility to marry Lucy. Like all mothers of beautiful young ladies, Mrs Westenra was surely keen to marry her daughter into a wealthy family.”
“As it happened,” I said, “it was Holmwood who benefitted the most from the union.”
“No one knew that at the time. I wonder, was Dracula about to inform Lucy that her betrothed’s claim to his inheritance was not as strong as she believed? Or was he to inform her of some personal scandal that would ruin any hope of a wedding? That is something we cannot be certain of yet.”
“But how do we find out?”
“I am certain all shall become clear with time. For now, I think it is safe to say Van Helsing believes he firmly has the upper hand. Soon, our intelligence-gathering will become telling, and finally we can begin to tighten the noose about this villain. Tomorrow we shall visit the final member of the Crew of Light—one I know you have been thirsting to speak to since we began.”
“Dr Seward.”
“Yes. I have held off on the alienist until now, for if the Dracula Papers are to be believed in his regard, his loyalty to Van Helsing is so powerful it is almost a mania. If he is as convinced of the professor’s goodness as his diary entries suggest, then I doubt we shall convince him otherwise. When we give him a push, Watson, he shall run straight to Van Helsing and warn him. Then the professor shall know we have not given up the fight.”
“What then, Holmes? Are we to play our hand?”
“Not all of it, no. But we are to set the cat amongst the pigeons. When that happens, I am sure we shall get the chance to visit justice upon two fair-haired German men, who have so far found only women to threaten.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE ALIENIST
“Now, Watson, this is liable to be most interesting, and, I hope, will be for the betterment of our case rather than its hindrance.”
Holmes took up a missive from the tray by the door, and flashed the envelope in my direction. The simple lettering read, “To S.H. from L.P.”
Sherlock Holmes--A Betrayal in Blood Page 14