Legacy of Evil (A Jonathan Harker Mystery)

by Tony Evans

  Although I had not visited the kitchen of the Kraznevin Inn, I did not expect to have any difficulty in locating it, having noticed the direction from which Wolski had carried in our meal on the previous evening. However, just as I was about to enter the large room where we had eaten – I had half-opened the door and was about to step inside – I heard urgent whispers from the direction of the serving counter. The words were in simple but accurate German – as if the speaker was addressing someone with a limited grasp of that language – and their import was enough to make place my candle holder carefully on the ground outside the threshold, and to tiptoe into the room closing the door after me. I reasoned that unless a lantern was turned in my direction I would be safe from observation.

  The first speaker did not have a voice that I recognised, but I identified his companion immediately: it was the bad, poorly accented German speech of the landlord of the Kraznevin Inn, Peter Seypos. The conversation – shorn of its linguistic solecisms – went along the following lines.

  ‘Seypos, your payments are late again! You know the consequences for you if you do not keep to our agreement.’

  ‘Sir, I wish to pay, but I do not have the money! You can see what few guests we have – tonight just the English couple, and the salesman from Austria – and then there are the staff to pay, the food to buy…’

  ‘That is not my concern! Do you not have things you could sell? Your horses, your wife’s jewellery? Or borrow money from the bank in Bistritz.’

  ‘I have already borrowed, and they will not advance more.’

  ‘Very well. I will say this to you once only. You have two more weeks to give me what I ask. Otherwise you will suffer the consequences.’

  The speakers became silent and I heard the scrape of a chair being pulled back. If the man who had speaking to Peter Seypos was about to leave, I could not risk discovery. Quickly I retreated to our room, my thirst forgotten as my brain struggled with the implications of what I had overheard.

  Chapter 4

  Mina slept that night with her usual untroubled soundness, and although I had been awake since six o’clock I did not rouse her until just before the breakfast hour. Once she had woken I told her everything that I had overheard.

  ‘It seems that the poor man is a victim of extortion!’ Mina cried. ‘Surely there is something we can do. Go to the police, perhaps?’

  ‘If I had overheard such a conversation anywhere in England I would say yes. However, in our present circumstances I believe that we should tread carefully. The nearest police station is in Bistritz – if they start to make enquires, it’s possible that whoever threatened Peter Seypos might get to hear of it, and suspect that he had informed on them. That might prove fatal to our landlord.’

  ‘But we can hardly do nothing.’ Mina paced up and down our room. Then she turned to me. ‘I have it! We must seek out Franz, the gentleman we were talking to last night, and ask for his advice. He told us that he lives in the village – he should not be hard to find. He struck me as honest and intelligent. He may even be able to offer a less sinister explanation of what you heard.’

  I thought carefully about Mina’s suggestion. It seemed highly unlikely that Franz was involved in whatever scheme threatened Seypos – retired academics do not often turn their hand to extortion. At the very least we could ask his opinion concerning the discretion – or otherwise – of the local police.

  ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘After breakfast we’ll think of a suitable pretext and ask Wolski for directions to Franz’s house. We do not have to be at Vlados Monastery until one o’clock this afternoon so we have plenty of time in hand.’

  *

  As it transpired no enquiries to the waiter were necessary. Shortly after we had sat down – to a peculiarly un-English offering of sliced cheese, ham and dark bread – Franz Codrescu entered the large room, evidently in search of his own breakfast. We were seated at a corner table too small for him to join us, but I exchanged a few words with our new acquaintance and arranged to visit him later at his house.

  *

  Mina and I had paid little attention to the little village when we had arrived at sunset on the previous evening, and so we walked out of the Kraznevin Inn with a good deal of curiosity. It was a gloomy, overcast morning and the chill February air seemed several degrees colder that we had experienced on our journey from Bistritz the day before. The road which wound through the hamlet was of beaten earth, although some of the houses on either side had flagstones or coarse gravel outside their thresholds. Apart from the Kraznevin Inn, the buildings were all single storied; some of the roofs were tiled in a dull terracotta, but most were of poorly-maintained thatch. A heavy cart laden with root vegetables lumbered past us pulled by two huge oxen, followed by a group of chattering, bare-foot, ill-dressed children who might have stepped straight from the pages of Oliver Twist.

  A moment later we reached a small square where two roads intersected, and which contained a public water-pump and horse trough. Following Franz’s directions I soon located his house, a stone building at one side of the square which seemed more substantial than most of the dwellings in the village.

  Franz opened the door at our knock: there was no hallway, and we stepped straight into a large, low-ceilinged room with a red tiled floor and a massive cast-iron range set in the chimney piece. The furnishings were old but comfortable, and an antique threadbare tapestry half covered one wall. The other walls were lined with bookshelves.

  Our host poured us both coffee from the enamelled jug which stood on the hotplate.

  ‘You must forgive my humble hospitality. I have the good fortune to be able to live as I like, and my tastes are simple. Mr Harker, you said that you wished for advice. How is it that I can help you?’

  In a few minutes I explained the disturbing conversation I had overheard between Peter Seypos and his mysterious interlocutor – and the reservations that Mina and I had about contacting the authorities.

  Franz sat back in his ancient armchair and sipped his coffee. ‘You have done well to come to me. This is not a matter where the forces of officialdom are likely to be of great help. Well, I will tell you what I know. But first I need to ask you a question. Am I correct in thinking that you and your wife are the Mr and Mrs Harker – Jonathan and Mina Harker, to be more exact – who rid our province of a great evil in November, 1893?’

  I exchanged glances with Mina. Before embarking on our return visit to Transylvania we had of course discussed the likelihood of our being identified as the couple who – along with Professor Van Helsing and our other friends – had been responsible for the destruction of Count Dracula. Although we had learned that there had been little publicity about that sensational episode in Transylvania itself, our adventure was no secret, and had indeed been the subject of widespread comment in the press in England. However, we had no reason to suspect that this could be a source of any difficulty or danger for us during our current visit. Most of the population of the province would have been heartily relieved to have escaped from the Count’s reign of terror, and those mortals who had provided him with assistance would surely wish their countrymen to forget the fact.

  ‘That is true,’ I said. ‘We are indeed that couple. Does that present a difficulty for you?’

  Franz shook his head. ‘Not at all – however, it is helpful to know to whom one is speaking. Now, as to what you overheard last night. It is, I am sad to say, just one more example of a general malaise which has affected this region of Transylvania for the last thirteen months. It is well known amongst the local population – including the inhabitants of Urmuz – that someone, or some organisation, has been using a combination of threats, violence and blackmail to enforce the payment of large sums of money.

  ‘The first incident that I am aware of took place in early January 1897, just over a year ago. At that time the manager of the Bistritz branch of the Transylvanian State Bank had a large country house in the northern part of the Davila Estate. He and his family used t
he house as a holiday retreat. They had spent Christmas there, together with a group of friends and relatives. Then on the morning that they were due to return to Bistritz the manager shot himself. The verdict of suicide was certain: he had dismissed his butler and housekeeper from his study; seconds later a shot was heard; the servants rushed back into the room to find his master dead at his desk, the weapon in his hand.’

  ‘Was any motive ever established?’ Mina asked.

  ‘Sadly yes. Klemens – the manager – left no note, but was discovered to have misappropriated a very large sum of money from his bank, which had been taken out in cash. No trace of it was ever found.’

  Franz refilled our coffee cups and continued. ‘Since that tragedy there have been at least two more suicides, and half-a-dozen unexplained bankruptcies. And I have reason to believe there have been a number of similar instances which have been successfully concealed. All, it seems, related to the victims raising crippling amounts of money for some purpose. Oh, and one bungled crime. A perfectly respectable land agent who lived here in Urmuz took it into his head to don a false beard, buy a revolver and travel to Budapest in order to rob a bank. He was killed by the state police and died before he could speak.’

  ‘Surely, if money is being extorted on such a scale, someone would have reported the matter to the authorities?’ I asked.

  Franz’s countenance took on a serious expression. ‘I believe that at least one victim tried to do so, with the most tragic consequences. It is well known that Lajos and Maria Polgar, once quite wealthy farmers, are now desperately short of money. Seven or eight months ago Lajos withdrew several large sums from his bank. Then three weeks afterwards Lajos, as you know, set off for Klausenburg. It is my belief that he had decided that enough was enough, and intended to report whoever was demanding money from him.’

  ‘Why Klausenburg?’ Mina asked. ‘The nearest police station is in Bistritz.’

  ‘Perhaps Lajos Polgar felt that the Bistritz officers may have been – not fully reliable, shall we say. And the Regional Commissioner is based in Klausenburg. However, as you know, Lajos did not reach his destination. I suspect that what he found on his return has dissuaded him from a second attempt. The Polgars have lost their daughter, but they have a son, Nicolaus, who has come back to live with them. I do not believe they would risk his safety.’

  With growing disquiet I realised that if this account as true then it put an entirely new perspective on Lord Tavistock’s intention to purchase the Davila Estate. I could hardly recommend such a transaction whilst a sinister threat appeared to loom over the district.

  ‘Franz, I appreciate what you have told us,’ I said to him. ‘Now may I ask you one further question? If you are able to provide an answer, I assure you that I will treat it in the strictest of confidence.’ Our host nodded, and I continued. ‘Do you have any theory as to the perpetrator of these outrages? I ask out of more than idle curiosity, I assure you.’

  Franz looked me in the eye. It was difficult to interpret his gaze: he gave no impression of fear, but his expression conveyed a certain reticence or caution. ‘I believe you, Mr Harker. Alas, you must excuse me – I can tell you no more. However, there is one other who may be able to help you. He is a somewhat elderly and frail gentleman, but his mind is as active as it ever was. He is currently in Austria, but I understand returns to Urmuz the day after tomorrow – on Monday morning. His name is Father Alecu Filimon, and he was until very recently the former priest of our little congregation here at Urmuz.’

  Chapter 5

  As we made our way back to the Kraznevin Inn, Mina and I discussed the implications of what we had heard. Like it or not, out of duty to my client we would have to find out the truth behind the disturbing events which Franz had described. Once more I tried to persuade my wife to return to Vienna and wait for me there, but again she was adamant that she intended to share whatever dangers might present themselves.

  ‘I noticed your attempt to conceal your surprise when Franz mentioned Father Filimon!’ Mina said. ‘Really, for a lawyer your powers of dissimulation are sadly limited. The cleric is undoubtedly the same man who was able to reassure Professor Van Helsing regarding the destruction of Dracula’s acolytes. It’s a great pity that we cannot speak to him immediately. Tell me, Jonathan, do you think that it is even remotely possible that the Count himself could lie behind whatever is threatening the inhabitants of the Davila Estate?’

  I shook my head. ‘I believe that to be very unlikely. First and foremost, all authorities on vampirism are in agreement that despite the difficulties and dangers of confronting such a fearful being, once such a creature has finally been destroyed – as we both witnessed in the case of Dracula – a subsequent resurrection is unheard of. Secondly, the perpetrator of the crimes which have been terrorising the neighbourhood seems motivated primarily by monetary gain. That was never an ambition of Count Dracula: he sought to entrap souls and gain a perverted spiritual dominance, not to swell his banking account.’

  Mina frowned. ‘How can one reach Dracula’s Castle from Urmuz?’ she asked.

  ‘There are two possible ways. The easiest is to return to Bistritz, then travel north-east through the Borgo Pass before turning south again to the site of the Castle. That is the route I took on my first visit to Transylvania. But the shortest journey from here is due north, to the edge of a western spur of the Carpathian Mountains. A high and narrow path – the Brezlau Way – crosses the mountains at that point and leads down to the rocky outcrop where Dracula’s Castle is situated. However, let us agree to postpone any consideration of a return to that evil place until we have spoken to Father Filimon. It’s also possible that our meeting with Prince Bretin this afternoon will let a gleam of light into this shadowy business. If we are to be at Vlados Monastery by one o’clock this afternoon, we must start our journey very shortly.’

  *

  Two hours later we were well on our way to the eastern region of the Davila Estate, where the Bretin’s family home was to be found. We had debated whether to go on horseback, but as Wolski had assured us that a passable track covered the whole route we took the sturdy calèche that we had hired from the Golden Krone for the duration of our visit.

  As we travelled further east the patches of trees became thicker, and soon we found ourselves rumbling through a dark tunnel of foliage with tall conifers pressing close to each side of the track. This was the forest which covered almost a third of the estate and which Lord Tavistock intended to farm for timber. The surrounding trees sheltered the path from the worst of the winter weather, and a thick covering of brown pine-needles meant that the wheels of our carriage turned almost in silence.

  Mina took out her watch. ‘Are you sure that we will be able to make our return journey in daylight?’ she asked. ‘Sunset is at five, and we will not reach Vlados Monastery until just before one o’clock.’

  ‘We’ll stay no more than an hour – or ninety minutes at most,’ I said. ‘That will give us ample time to reach Urmuz before dusk. However, if we are unfortunately delayed, there are oil lamps stowed under the seat behind us. I trust we will not need them.’

  We made good time, and at half-past twelve in the afternoon we suddenly emerged from the dense woodland onto the lower slopes of the Carpathian Mountains. Neither of us were quite prepared for the awesome scene which now lay in front of us, its bleak vastness all the more impressive in contrast to the claustrophobic confines of the forest path. A series of huge, jagged peaks filled the skyline from right to left, and apart from the first mile or two of ground in front of us all was covered in fresh fall of snow. I had instinctively reigned in our pair of horses at this majestic sight and before I could urge them forward again Mina touched my sleeve.

  ‘That large grey building, just in front of the lower bank of snow,’ – she pointed as she spoke – ‘would that be Vlados Monastery?’

  I opened my travelling bag and took out the hand-drawn map which Notary Dimov had sent to Mr Joplin before I had le
ft England, tracing our route with my finger.

  ‘Yes, I believe it must be. I did not see it until you pointed it out – the stone seems to merge with the surrounding hills. No doubt when it was first built it did not pay for such places to be too conspicuous.’

  With a little encouragement our horses commenced the last stage of our journey. I could sense a fresh enthusiasm in their step and wondered if they too had observed our destination and reasoned – with that self-serving intelligence that animals so often seem to possess – that very soon a warm stable and a pail of oats would be their likely reward.

  *

  As we neared the monastery the narrow track twisted and turned to render the rising gradient in front of us less precipitous. It soon became clear which parts of the building were occupied, and which had been left to their own devices for the last four hundred years.

  The southernmost section – about a third of the whole – was a substantial four storey edifice constructed out of large granite blocks, pierced at irregular intervals with small, leaded windows. It was roofed with terracotta tiles which must have been a reddish pink long ago, but which were now green-grey, stained with algae and the effects of the harsh winters. There was little decoration to be seen: the front entrance, however, was set within a tall stone archway embellished with stone gargoyles.

  The rest of the monastery leant decrepitly against the Abbott’s House in the manner of an aged relative seeking support from a younger scion of the family. The walls were formed from the same grey granite as the house, but several sections had crumbled away, leaving irregular holes in the sagging façade. The roof had been tiled with massive slabs of cut stone, and much of the underlying structure had succumbed to the weight above.

  Mina pointed to the ruined section. ‘Even the most dedicated admirer of the picturesque would do well to keep out of that building! It’s a great shame it’s been allowed to fall into such sad disrepair. Do you think that Lord Tavistock will attempt to restore it?’