Legacy of Evil (A Jonathan Harker Mystery)

by Tony Evans

  I shook my head. ‘I’m no expert, but I dare say that the expense involved would be prohibitive. He may decide to demolish it completely. However, the Abbot’s House seems sound enough.’

  My wife chuckled. ‘It’s not a residence which would appeal to me. Indeed, if it were placed by the side of a dismal lake it would resemble nothing more that Poe’s “House of Usher”! I cannot imagine the former Miss Bleeker wishing to adopt it as their family seat – at least not without a plentiful supply of her father’s whisky to banish the solitude.’

  As she spoke we arrived at the double doors of the entrance. Now that we had reached them they were far wider and taller than they had appeared from a distance, and it occurred to me that as there was no stabling apparent outside the curtilage of the house there was probably an enclosed courtyard within: more evidence perhaps of the need to provide a defensible dwelling during the turbulent years of previous generations.

  Thus it proved. With the sound of clanking metal and grating hinge the ancient studded-oak doors in front of us swung open and I drove our carriage slowly through. When we had crossed the threshold a short, middle aged servant in gaiters and a leather apron took hold of our horses’ harnesses and led us through into a flagstoned courtyard open to the air high above. Stable doors stood on the northern side, and the other two inner walls were each pierced with windows. Ahead of us there was a smaller but no less venerable door, which no doubt gave access to the inner building.

  After ascertaining through some inventive sign-language – the groom had no English or German – that our two horses would be taken care of, I pulled hard on the bell-handle which jutted out of the stone pilasters. A minute later we heard the sound of a key turning the lock, and the heavy door swung inwards. There on the threshold to welcome us was a man who I instinctively felt must be the owner of Vlados Monastery and the Davila Estate: Prince Andrei Bretin.

  Chapter 6

  It was indeed the Prince, who welcomed us in fluent English and with old-fashioned courtesy. Had I not already known that he was fifty–five, I would have judged him as several years younger. Andrei Bretin was very tall and thin, but despite his slenderness he contrived to give an impression of considerable power, both physical and mental. He was dressed immaculately in an old-fashioned black frock coat with matching dark trousers and a starched standing collar and necktie. He was clean shaven with a markedly pale complexion, and his dark hair was barely speckled with grey.

  After we had exchanged the usual formalities Prince Bretin insisted that we had luncheon with him and led the way down a dark corridor, illuminated only be a small window set in the far wall.

  ‘I hope you will not mind dining in our modest chamber!’ he said with a smile. ‘There is a grand old refectory that was used by the Abbott long ago, but it is far too large and chilly for our purposes. I have asked Frau Müller – my cook and housekeeper – to prepare us a simple meal of bread, soup and cheese, as I understand that you will need to leave promptly in order reach Urmuz before dark.’

  ‘That sounds delightful,’ Mina said. ‘Tell me Prince Bretin, will the Princess be joining us?’

  ‘She will indeed, but I insist that you call her Elena! She is particularly anxious to meet you, Mrs Harker. Since her governess returned to France my daughter has had little in the way of female company: she will be delighted to entertain you when your husband and I discuss matters of business after luncheon.’

  As we entered the dining room Elena Bretin ran forward to meet us. Her appearance was striking, not least because of the contrast that she presented to her austere parent. She was somewhat above the average height and full-figured, although she moved with the grace and poise of a dancer. Her hair – pinned back in a loose bun – was glossy, dark and very thick, and her eyes were a deep brown. She wore a cream muslin dress, the pale fabric contrasting with her olive complexion.

  Frowning with concentration on her words, she addressed us in heavily accented and somewhat hesitant English.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Harker, I am delighted that we meet. You must excuse my poor skill in your language. After we eat I show Mrs Harker around our home, and she must tell me all about London. I myself have never travelled outside Transylvania.’

  As she spoke it struck me that here was something in Elena’s demeanour – a certain sombreness, perhaps – that was not entirely to be expected in a young woman of nineteen. It would be interesting to hear what Mina made of the Princess.

  Prince Bretin smiled at his daughter. ‘That will change soon enough my dear, once Mr Harker and I have completed the sale of our property.’

  Our simple meal was soon brought in by Bretin’s housekeeper, and proved excellent. As we ate I glanced around the chamber: the Prince had described it as “modest”, but to my eyes it was most impressive. The window on the outer wall was far larger than those that we had seen on the frontage of the monastery, and the low seat running beneath it was furnished with rich velvet cushions. The inglenook fireplace was big enough to have stood up in, and contained a fire of blazing logs which battled valiantly to dispel the chill from the room – not altogether successfully.

  Once the meal had been cleared away – I noticed that Prince Bretin had eaten very little – Elena led my wife away for her tour of the monastery, promising to return by two o’clock so that we could travel back to Urmuz in good time. I took out my legal papers from my valise, and sat down next to my client to ensure that he was in agreement with all the particulars and conditions of the sale.

  *

  Fortunately our negotiations were concluded well before the appointed hour. During our discussions I had made it my business to refer obliquely to the disturbing incidents which Franz had described, but as the Prince had shown no reaction, I had declined to press the matter. My reasoning was as follows: if Franz’s account was unfounded, then Prince Bretin might suspect me of raising difficulties in order to reduce the price that Lord Tavistock had agreed to pay for the Davila Estate. After all, it would not be hard for the Prince to find another buyer if he became disenchanted with the noble lord – or indeed with me. I reasoned that there would still be time to question Bretin more directly after Mina and I had spoken to Father Filimon on Monday.

  ‘Tell me, Prince Bretin,’ I asked, ‘would it be possible for me to visit one of the farms on the Davila Estate before Mina and I leave Transylvania? I would like to be able to tell Lord Tavistock something about his prospective tenancies – more, that is, than the plain facts about acreages and rents recorded in the deeds of the estate.’

  For a moment the nobleman appeared somewhat taken aback by my request. I wondered what might have caused him concern. From all that I had heard, he was a well-liked and respected landlord. However, he soon regained his composure and turned to me with the semblance of a smile.

  ‘Of course, if you wish it.’ He pointed with a finger to the map which lay in front of us. ‘May I suggest the Alexandru Farm, to the south here? The tenant – Vaslie Alexandru – speaks a little German. However, I will write you a note of introduction, so that he understands your visit has my approval. Some of my tenants are understandably concerned about the prospect of a change of landlord, and it will be helpful if you can assure him of Lord Tavistock’s good intentions.’

  As Prince Bretin spoke I noticed that the room had darkened, although it was not yet two o’clock. I walked to the window, and saw to my concern that a heavy fall of snow was in progress: indeed the higher ground to the east of the monastery was already thickly covered.

  The Prince came to my side and rubbed at the window pain.

  ‘This is most unfortunate!’ he said. ‘If this blizzard persists, I believe that it would be unwise for you and Mrs Harker to attempt to return to Urmuz this afternoon. It would not do for you to be stranded in darkness. You must stay as my guests tonight.’

  When Mina and Elena joined us a few minutes later, my wife was reluctantly persuaded of the wisdom of Prince Bretin’s words. However, as he assured us that
a safe passage might be made to Urmuz the following morning, snow or no snow, I was optimistic that an unintended sojourn at Vlados Monastery would not interrupt our plans. Fortunately Mina and I were sufficiently experienced travellers to be able to make do without our overnight bags, provided Mrs Müller could lend us a few essentials.

  *

  The snowfall continued almost until dusk, by which time we had long since decided to accept the Bretins’ kind offer of hospitality. We had spent a pleasant afternoon and evening with the Prince and his daughter, culminating in a tour of the famous Vlados library. It was a large, galleried room, and Mina had spent over an hour exploring its darker recesses whilst Prince Bretin and his daughter had showed me their most treasured manuscripts. However, it was not until eleven o’clock that evening, when Mina and I were in the bedroom Mrs Müller had prepared for us, that my wife was able to tell me about her earlier conversation with Elena.

  ‘She is evidently very attached to the family seat, even though she wishes to see more of the world,’ Mina said. ‘The Princess was able to tell me the history of the monastery as well as any learned professor. In many ways she seems old beyond her years: I would have expected some tittle tattle about fashions or dresses – or even coy references to the more handsome young men in the neighbourhood – but instead I received a lecture on medieval Transylvania.’

  Mina paused thoughtfully, then continued. ‘And there’s more, Jonathan. All the time she was talking to me, I felt that there was something else that she wished to tell me, but was holding back. Indeed I came close to asking her outright if there was something troubling her which she wished to share, but it hardly seemed polite to pry: after all we are her father’s guests.’

  ‘Perhaps she has heard rumours about the tragic events described to us by Franz. I have to say that her father seemed to have no knowledge of them.’

  Mina nodded. ‘It’s a great shame that we were not able to speak to Father Filimon before we came here. However, let me make a suggestion. If you can distract Prince Bretin with some further queries tomorrow morning, I will make it my business to closet myself privately with his daughter. Then I will question her directly. If she is worried about anything, we need to discover it, even at the expense of appearing to be ill-mannered guests.’

  *

  We thus agreed on Mina’s scheme, not knowing that it would prove unnecessary. Just as we had blown out the candle and composed ourselves for sleep – it was about fifteen minutes before midnight – a soft tapping came from the bedroom door. I stood up, pulled my travelling coat around my borrowed nightshirt, and opened the door a few inches.

  Outside in near-darkness stood Elena, her glossy hair hanging loose to her shoulders, barefoot and wearing a long silk robe. A woollen scarf was wrapped around her neck. She looked nervously back down the corridor from whence she had come.

  ‘Please forgive, Mr Harker, but may I speak to your wife? I must talk to someone, and she is kind lady.’

  Saying nothing I held open the door, closing it behind Elena as the young woman passed through. I offered to leave Elena and Mina together in private, but the Princess begged me to stay. Fortunately Frau Müller had placed a flask of slivovitz (the plum brandy of the region) in our room – her concept of hospitality being more liberal that that normally found in her English counterparts – and I persuaded Elena to take a glass. The dose seemed to embolden her, and slowly she told us her story. Sensing its importance I took notes in my pocket book as she spoke. Although I am competent in shorthand, I did not record Elena verbatim: her English, though perfectly intelligible was far from perfect, and so I have taken the liberty of rendering her story in my own words, based upon the detailed record that I made that night.

  Chapter 7

  The account of Princess Elena Bretin: as told to Jonathan and Mina Harker, February 18th 1898.

  Until six months ago I would have counted myself amongst the happiest young women in the country. Although I lived what many would have considered a solitary life, I had the good fortune to have a kind and considerate father, and a governess whom I counted as much friend as teacher. Mademoiselle Cécile Monnier was only twenty six years old, although far superior to me in education and accomplishments.

  Then in late August 1897 everything changed. I remember that evening very well. I had dined with my father and Mademoiselle Monnier as usual, and the evening being a fine one I decided to take a turn in the walled garden which lies to the east of the house. The Abbot’s Garden, we call it, after the personage who once occupied this dwelling. It is cold and unwelcoming at this time of year, but in the summertime, surrounded by flowers and the scent of herbs, it is a very pleasant place.

  I sat for some minutes on my favourite bench enjoying the evening air. It must have been after seven o’clock, as the sun was setting. Once dusk had fallen and the last gleams of direct sunlight had vanished the air became cooler, and I stood up to return to the Monastery.

  As I got to my feet I suddenly noticed the figure of a young woman standing in front of the stretch of stone wall immediately opposite me. She was perhaps twenty yards away. For an instant I thought it was Mademoiselle Monnier, if only because my governess was the only woman under fifty – apart from myself – to be found for miles in any direction. A moment’s further observation revealed my error. Rather than the simple grey or black costume that was Mademoiselle’s usual attire, the woman – who could not have been older than five and twenty – wore a low-necked evening dress of red satin, set off with long white gloves. It seemed that she had forgotten the final stages of her toilette: her great, wavy mass of golden hair hung loosely to her bare white shoulders. She caught my gaze and immediately I felt the hypnotic power of her stare, stepping involuntarily towards her. As I did so the young woman smiled at me, beckoning me to approach nearer.

  At that moment a white shape glided through the air close by me and the hoot of an owl filled the silence of the garden. The figure in front of me stepped back, crying out as if confused, and as she did so I turned my head to see the broad, slow beating wings of the creature disappear above the garden wall.

  When I looked back towards my visitor the woman was nowhere to be seen! Her inexplicable disappearance shocked me far more than her earlier manifestation: there was no exit nearby, and it would not have been possible for even the swiftest of women to have vanished from my sight in the second or two when my attention was engaged elsewhere. The strangeness of the incident filled me with misgiving, and I resolved to tell my father all that had occurred. He would surely know of the woman if she lived in the locality. However, when I returned to the house I was met by our housekeeper – Frau Müller – who told me that father had complained of tiredness, and had already gone to bed. Reasoning that the matter could wait until the following morning I decided that I would speak to him after breakfast the next day.

  How I wished afterwards that I had informed him immediately! I had no idea that he would react so severely to my story. Fortunately his shock and dismay was not directed at me, but it seemed for a moment that would lose all control of his feelings: he sat in our breakfast room with his head in his hands as if in the extremes of despair. Then he called for the groom and demanded that his horse be saddled immediately, announcing that he was to ride to Bistritz at once and would return that same afternoon.

  Despite my pleas my father would tell me nothing more and forbade my speaking to Mademoiselle Monnier about the matter. If he was in possession of some knowledge about the mysterious woman I had seen in the garden, then clearly he had no intention of sharing it with me. I could not risk my governess seeing my ill-concealed state of agitation, and sent a message to her excusing me from my studies that day on the pretext of a headache.

  My father returned at three o’clock that afternoon. To my great relief he seemed to have regained much of his composure, and he assured me that I would never again see the mysterious and beautiful young woman who had appeared to me in the Abbott’s Garden on the previous day.
When I again asked for an explanation of what had occurred, and where he had gone to that day, he politely but firmly declined to answer. He did, however, make two further pronouncements. His words remain fixed in memory.

  ‘From henceforth you must on no account leave the Monastery after dusk. You must promise me this, as your life may depend upon it. I will instruct Frau Müller to make sure that all the outside doors are locked every day before nightfall, and the windows closed and latched. Lest you feel this is too much of an imposition, let me add this. I have decided to sell the Davila Estate as soon as possible, and will advertise the property immediately. Once it is sold, we will move to Paris – or London, if you prefer – and you may once again enjoy your liberty. You have been too much confined here in Transylvania, and can continue your education in northern Europe.’

  Knowing as I did my father’s great love of our province and his attachment to Vlados Monastery and his tenant farmers, I found his decision to leave inexplicable. However, it was not my place to change his mind, and last month father announced that he hoped to sell the estate to an English nobleman, Lord Tavistock, for a very large sum of money. A day or two after my father’s announcement of the projected sale Mademoiselle Monnier left our household, which upset me greatly. However, any distress that I felt about parting with my beloved governess was overshadowed by the terrible events that followed.

  The dreadful night of which I am about to speak was that of Wednesday 2nd February, just over two weeks ago. It is because of what occurred then that I feel I must speak to someone before I become unhinged with fear and foreboding, for I feel that there may be yet more horrors to come.

  Cezar Dimov – the young Notary handling the sale of the Davila Estate – had come to us from Bistritz to discuss some particulars of the transaction with my father, and had arranged to stay as our guest overnight. After dinner I retired to my room, leaving father and the Notary to continue their work. I must have been ten o’clock – or shortly afterwards – that I fell asleep, checking as usual that the inner latch on my bedroom window was firmly closed.