The Mina Murray Series Bundle, A Dracula Retelling: Books 1-3

by L. D. Goffigan

“My sincere apologies, but it did seem like you needed help,” Abe said, trying to sound genuine despite the faint note of humor in his tone.

  As we headed up the stairs, my irritation at Mary’s visit dissipated, and I turned to face him with an apologetic smile.

  “I don’t care what Mary or anyone thinks. It is quite late. You can stay the night in one of the guest rooms if you’d like.”

  Only a few hours ago, I would have been horrified at the thought of having any man stay the night at my home, no matter how innocent, for fear of how the scandal would affect the Harkers. But the night’s events now made all those concerns seem trivial, and I was still feeling defiant in the face of Mary’s insufferable propriety.

  “Now that is the Mina Murray I know,” Abe said, returning my smile with a wink. “Thank you. I may end up sleeping in Robert’s study—if I sleep at all. It has been some time since I have read through his older research; it is extensive. He–he had a brilliant mind.”

  Abe looked distant for a moment, his eyes briefly darkening with grief. Abe’s own father had died when he was very young. My father had filled that role in his life, and I knew how much Abe had loved him.

  On impulse, I reached out to rest my hand on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Besides Clara, Abe was the only other person who shared my deep grief over Father’s death. It was my combined guilt and grief in the aftermath of Father’s death that had caused the dissolution of our relationship, but his death still linked us.

  Abe’s hand drifted up to rest over mine, and once again heat coursed through me at his touch. Realizing how close we now stood to each other, I took a step back and dropped my hand. There was a brief flicker of some emotion I could not identify in Abe’s features before it was gone again, and he turned to head back towards the study.

  “Abe, I forgot to mention . . . Father’s most recent journal is missing. I haven’t been able to find it anywhere. It must have been misplaced. If you were searching for it, you won’t find it in there,” I said, as the memory of Father’s missing journal surfaced.

  Abe halted in his tracks, looking back at me with a frown.

  “I was looking for it. That is quite odd,” he said, puzzled. He stood there for a moment, his brow furrowed, before turning to head back to the study.

  Back in my bedroom, Clara had already completed packing my traveling bag, and gave me an approving nod as I entered.

  “Good for you, speakin’ your mind ta Mary Harker,” Clara said, and I realized that she must have heard our entire exchange.

  “I’m going to have to apologize,” I said grudgingly. “Though she’ll never forgive me.”

  “Tell me wha’ happened tonight. Everythin’,” Clara said, waving away all talk of Mary Harker. She took my hand and guided me to the bed, taking a seat opposite me.

  Clara knew of the tales of vampires that Abe, Father and I had collected during our travels in Transylvania; and she was very aware of how Father died. But we’d never discussed the possibility of vampires truly existing, and I had maintained that everything that happened in Transylvania had a rational explanation.

  Now, I was nervous as I told her everything that happened—from Abe’s confronting me on the street to the events at the ball and the aftermath, including Abe’s hypnosis of Lucy. Clara remained silent as I spoke. When I finished, she was silent and pale, and not looking at me.

  “I know it sounds as if I’ve gone mad,” I said, flustered by her silence. “But I know what I saw, and—”

  “I believe you,” Clara interrupted. But she still looked uneasy, and her hands were now clenched nervously in her lap.

  “Then what is it?” I asked.

  Clara remained silent for a long moment, and when her eyes finally met mine, they were wide with agitation.

  “Don’t go back ta Transylvania, Mina. You can’t,” she said. “Let the police find him. Please.”

  “I just told you why we can’t rely on the authorities,” I said, stunned by her vehemence.

  “I knew. I knew this day’d come,” she whispered rawly, closing her eyes.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “Clara?”

  “Your father,” she said heavily, her eyes now filling with tears. “He made me promise ta never tell you this. May God forgive me for breakin’ my promise.”

  “What . . . what promise?” I asked, my body going cold with dread.

  Clara got to her feet and began to pace the room.

  “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 carr
iage 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 again 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.”