Dracula, My Love: The Secret Journals of Mina Harker

by Syrie James

  Naturally, I mentioned nothing about my day’s activity at supper that night.

  “I have some business in Lauceston to-morrow,” Jonathan told me, as he absently took a bite of his roast beef and sipped his wine. “I will be obliged to stay the night.”

  “Oh?” I replied, disappointed. “I will miss you. Do you realise: this will be the first time that we have been parted since our marriage?”

  “I am sorry, but it cannot be helped. It is only one night, dear. I will be back the day after to-morrow—rather late, I expect.”

  When we kissed good-bye early the next morning, Jonathan told me he loved me, and held me very tightly; but I sensed that his thoughts were elsewhere, as they had been ever since I had been reunited with him in Buda-Pesth. Oh! I thought, as I watched him walk off down the lane, I do hope the dear fellow will take care of himself and that nothing will occur to upset him.

  Then I sank down into a chair and had a good, long cry.

  A LETTER CAME BY THAT MORNING’S POST FROM ABRAHAM VAN Helsing, the man who had sent me the telegram about Lucy a few days before:

  London, 24 September 1890

  (Confidence)

  Dear Madam—

  I pray you to pardon my writing, in that I am so far friend as that I sent you sad news of Miss Lucy Westenra’s death. By the kindness of Lord Godalming, I am empowered to read her letters and papers, for I am deeply concerned about certain matters vitally important. In them I find some letters from you, which show how great friends you were and how you love her. Oh, Madam Mina, by that love, I implore you, help me. It is for other’s good that I ask—to redress great wrong, and to lift much and terrible troubles—that may be more great than you can know. May it be that I see you? You can trust me. I am friend of Dr. John Seward and of Lord Godalming (that was Arthur of Miss Lucy). I must keep it private for the present from all. I should come to Exeter to see you at once if you tell me I am privilege to come, and where and when. I implore your pardon, madam. I have read your letters to poor Lucy, and know how good you are and how your husband suffer; so I pray you, if it may be, enlighten him not, lest it may harm. Again your pardon, and forgive me.

  Van Helsing

  From this letter, I understood two important things: that Mr. Holmwood’s father had died, since Arthur had inherited his title as Lord Godalming (no wonder, with so much sorrow, the man had neglected to write to me upon Lucy’s death!); and that this Abraham Van Helsing was requesting my help. I had no idea at the time who Van Helsing was, but from his name and the rather awkward wording of his letter I took him to be a foreigner, perhaps from the Netherlands. As he claimed to be a friend of Lord Godalming and Dr. John Seward (one of the other men who had proposed to Lucy), I was most anxious to meet him.

  What “great wrong” and “terrible troubles” did he speak of? I wondered. Did it have something to do with Lucy’s death? Would I, at last, learn something about what had happened to her? I immediately sent off a telegram, asking Van Helsing to catch the next possible train to Exeter that very day.

  It was half-past two o’clock when I heard the knock at the front door. I waited in great suspense in the drawing-room. A few minutes later, the door opened.

  “Dr. Van Helsing,” announced our housemaid, Mary, as she curtseyed and withdrew.

  I rose and beheld my visitor as he approached me. He was a strongly built, broad-chested man of medium height and weight, who looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties. His greying hair, shot through with strands of fading red, was neatly combed, and he had big, bushy eyebrows over a broad forehead. He had a good face, clean-shaven, with a large, resolute mouth, and big, dark blue eyes that gleamed with both compassion and intelligence. Indeed, the very poise of his head struck me at once as indicative of thought and power.

  “Mrs. Harker, is it not?” he enquired in a thick, Dutch accent.

  I bowed my assent, my heart beating with eager expectation. “And you are Dr. Van Helsing?” At his nod, I added: “I am afraid my husband is out of town, or I am sure he would have been pleased to meet you, Doctor.”

  “It is you who I have come to see, Mrs. Harker; that is, if you were once Mina Murray, and a friend of that poor dear child Lucy Westenra.”

  “I am she. Sir, I loved Lucy with all my heart. You could have no better claim on me than to say that you were a friend and helper of Lucy Westenra.” I held out my hand, which he took with a courtly bow.

  “Thank you, but even so I must introduce myself, Madam Mina, for I know that I am a complete stranger to you.”

  It was the first time that I had ever been addressed as “Madam Mina,” a rather quaint but wonderful appellation, I thought. As soon as were both seated in chairs opposite each other, he went on: “I believe you know Dr. John Seward, yes?”

  I knew that Dr. Seward had been in love with Lucy, and that he had once proposed to her; but since I was uncertain as to whether or not this fact was common knowledge, I only replied: “I have never met Dr. Seward, sir; but I know he was a friend of Lucy’s. She spoke very highly of him.”

  “Indeed, Dr. Seward is an excellent young man and a physician of great devotion. Some years past, he was my student and I his mentor. We remain good friends ever since. I am a scientist and a metaphysician. I make my specialty the brain, and also I have much experience in the study of obscure diseases. It was for this reason that Dr. Seward ask me to come over and look at Miss Lucy.”

  “She was ill, then?” I said, as a great sadness came over me.

  “She was.”

  “I feared as much. Lucy was ill when I left her at Whitby. It was as if she was wasting away for no apparent reason. When she wrote to me a few days later, however, she said she had fully recovered and was returning to her mother’s house in London the next day. The news of her death came as such a shock, I thought that perhaps she had met with an accident of some kind.”

  “No; I fear what happened to Miss Lucy was no accident,” he replied grimly.

  “What did she suffer from, Dr. Van Helsing? Why did she die?”

  “Ah! That is the great mystery, Madam Mina. It is that very question which brings me to you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. Although Miss Lucy die at Hillingham in London, I have deep suspicion that the root of her ailment begins at Whitby. As I mention in my letter, I have read what you wrote to Miss Lucy, so I know you were with her at Whitby. Will you help me, Madam Mina? Will you tell me what you know?”

  Despite his quaint, stilted manner of speaking, the eagerness in his voice and the shrewdness in his eyes projected a commanding intelligence. “If it is at all in my power to help you, Doctor, I will certainly try. But first, you must tell me what happened to her.”

  He heaved a deep sigh. “The events which surround Miss Lucy’s death are complicated and most disturbing. Are you certain you wish to hear them?”

  “I do, sir. I have been so anxious ever since I received your telegram. I cannot rest until I know.”

  “Well, in brief, then: in London, Miss Lucy again she suffer from condition you so well describe as ‘wasting away.’ Dr. Seward attended her. In his worry, he wrote to me in Amsterdam, asking me to come. And so I go to London to consult on the case. For days on end, Miss Lucy—so sweet, so lovely—she is ghastly pale and demonstrate all signs of severe blood loss, but with no discernible medical explanation, and she have dreams that frighten her which she cannot remember. We try everything; we confine her to her bed, we transfuse her with new blood, but each time, by the next morning she is nearly bloodless again, and her breathing is painful to see and hear. Then one night, a wolf escape from the London Zoo—”

  “A wolf!”

  He nodded solemnly. “The beast break through a window of her bedroom, giving Lucy’s mother—who slept beside her—a fatal heart attack.”

  “Oh! Is that how Mrs. Westenra died? How awful!”

  “It was indeed a strange and tragic event. That the mother had a heart condition, we knew; but the daughter�
��I had hoped to save her. Despite my most earnest efforts, however, Miss Lucy grew steadily weaker; and—alas!—ultimately her heart and breathing cease, and she die.”

  “Oh!” I said again. Tears stung my eyes, and I wept for my two dear friends who had meant so much to me.

  Dr. Van Helsing sat silently, offering me his handkerchief and allowing me this moment of grief, until I had regained some measure of control over myself. At length, he said: “I am sorry to be the bearer of such sad news, Madam Mina, but I felt I had to see you. All throughout Miss Lucy’s illness, I have suspicions—deep suspicions—about what might lie behind it; but I could not verify, nor am I at liberty to reveal. After reading Miss Lucy’s diary, however, I am convinced it all started at Whitby.”

  “Lucy kept a diary?” I said in surprise, drying my tears. “I never saw her write in one.”

  “It was begun after you left, Madam Mina. By Miss Lucy’s admission, it was in imitation of you. Now: in her diary, she trace by inference certain things to a sleep-walking incident in which she claims that you rescued her. I therefore come to you, with hope that you will ease my perplexity and tell me all of it that you can remember.”

  “I can tell you, I think, all about it.”

  “Can you? Then you have good memory for facts and details?”

  “I think so, Doctor; but far better than that—I wrote it all down at the time.”

  “Oh, Madam Mina!” He looked surprised and thrilled. “May I see this writing? I would be so grateful.”

  I retrieved my journal and showed it to him. “I kept a diary during my stay in Whitby, where I made a record of my thoughts and everything—” (thinking of Mr. Wagner, I quickly amended) “nearly everything—that occurred there, including all the details of the sleep-walking incident you referred to, and all the times that I found Lucy ill or in distress.”

  Dr. Van Helsing’s face fell as he stared at my note-book full of scribbles. “Alas! I know not the shorthand. Will you do me the honour of reading it to me?”

  “I would be happy to, Doctor; but you can read it yourself if you prefer. I have written it all out on the typewriter.” I took the typewritten copy from my work-basket and handed it to him.

  “Oh, you so clever woman! You are so skilled, so adept at many things, and you have such foresight. May I read it now? I may want to ask you some things when I have finished.”

  “By all means. Read it over whilst I order lunch; and then you can ask me questions whilst we eat.”

  Dr. Van Helsing settled himself in his chair and became absorbed in the papers. I went to see to lunch primarily to avoid disturbing him, for the cook already had the matter well in hand. I then quietly slipped upstairs for a little while, where I paced up and down the hall with mounting anxiety. What would he think of my little document? I wondered. Would it shed any light on what had happened to poor Lucy? And, the thing that perplexed me most of all: what could be so complicated and mysterious about the illness of a nineteen-year-old girl, that it would baffle a man of Dr. Van Helsing’s apparently vast knowledge and experience?

  When I had given him sufficient time to peruse the document, I came back down-stairs in a state of nervous anticipation. I found him pacing up and down the drawing-room, his face lit up with excitement.

  “Oh, Madam Mina,” he said, rushing up and taking me by both hands, “how can I say what I owe to you? This paper is as sunshine. You record these daily happenings in such excellent detail, with so much feeling, which breathes out truth in every line. It is everything I could have hoped for!”

  “It will be helpful, then?”

  “Infinitely so! Already, it answers many questions. It opens a gate to me. A light pours through which dazzles me much; and yet clouds and darkness are not far behind.”

  I could not help but smile at his eccentric way with words. I had never before heard any one speak as he did. “Is there anything else you wish to ask about those weeks in Whitby, Doctor?”

  “At present, no; the document speaks for itself.” He then added very solemnly, “I am grateful to you, Madam Mina. If ever Abraham Van Helsing can do anything for you or yours, I trust you will let me know. It will be an honour and a pleasure if I may serve you as a friend.” He went on to praise what he called my “sweet and noble nature” at some length, and in a manner which I told him was far too praiseworthy, then ended by saying: “Your husband—is he quite well and hearty? All that fever you spoke of in your letters, is it gone?”

  I sighed. “I think he was almost recovered, Doctor, but he has been greatly upset by Mr. Hawkins’s death.”

  “Oh, yes. I am so sorry.”

  “Then, when we were in London last week, he had a sort of shock which made things worse.”

  “A shock, so soon after brain fever! That is too bad. What happened?”

  “He thought he saw someone he recognised. It made him recall something frightening and terrible, something which I believe may have led to his brain fever in the first place.”

  Dr. Van Helsing’s eyes widened, and he said animatedly, “This occured in London? Who did he see? What did he recall?”

  Once again, tears sprang into my eyes. The horror which Jonathan had experienced in Transylvania, the mystery of his journal, and the fear that had been brooding over me ever since I had read it, all came over me in a sudden tumult of emotion. “Oh! Dr. Van Helsing, I am afraid to tell you. If you only knew what my poor Jonathan has suffered! But—you said earlier that you specialize in the brain. I implore you: if I have been in any way of assistance to you to-day, can you find it in your heart to help my husband? Can you make him well again?”

  Dr. Van Helsing took my hands in his and reassured me, in a kind and sympathetic tone, that he was absolutely certain Jonathan’s sufferings were within the range of his study and experience. He promised he would do everything he could to help my husband. “But you look too pale and overwrought to continue. We will talk no more of this until we have eaten.”

  Over lunch, Dr. Van Helsing purposefully turned the conversation to other things, and in time I became composed again. He would not say much about himself except that he lived alone in Amsterdam and travelled often. His life seemed to be a very lonely one, so devoted to work that he had little time for friendships or relationships.

  Later, after we returned to the drawing-room and sat down, Dr. Van Helsing turned to me and said kindly: “Now tell me all about your Jonathan.”

  “Doctor,” I said, after some hesitation, “what I have to tell you is so strange that I fear you will laugh and think me a weak fool—and Jonathan a madman.”

  “Oh my dear, if you only know how strange is the matter regarding which I am here, it is you who would laugh. I make no study of the ordinary things in life. It is the extraordinary things, the things that make one doubt if they be mad or sane, which interest me. I have learned not to think little of any one’s belief, but to keep an open mind.”

  “Thank you, sir!” I cried, greatly relieved. I pondered a moment and then added, “Since you found my own journal to be so enlightening, perhaps—rather than my telling you about Jonathan’s troubles—it would be better for you to read about them instead.”

  “Read about them? Do you mean to say—did your husband also keep a journal?”

  “He did. It is an account of all that happened when he was abroad. It is longer than mine, but I have typewritten it all out. You must read it for yourself, and then tell me what you think.”

  He accepted the papers gratefully and with undisguised excitement, promising to read them that very evening. “I will stay in Exeter to-night, Madam Mina, and we will talk again to-morrow. I would like to see your husband then, if I may.”

  Dr. Van Helsing then kissed my hand and went away.

  I SPENT THE REMAINDER OF THE AFTERNOON IN A STATE OF FRENZIED concern and absent-mindedness, alternating between periods of hope and self-chastisement.

  At half-past six that evening, a letter was hand-delivered to the house, which immediat
ely raised my spirits:

  Exeter—25 September, 6 o’clock

  Dear Madam Mina—

  I have read your husband’s so wonderful diary. You may sleep without doubt. Strange and terrible as it is, it is true! I will pledge my life on it. It may be worse for others; but for him and you there is no dread. He is a noble fellow; and let me tell you from experience of men, that one who would do as he did in going down that wall and to that room—ay, and going a second time—is not one to be injured in permanence by a shock. His brain and his heart are all right; this I swear, before I have even seen him; so be at rest. I shall have much to ask him of other things. I am blessed that to-day I come to see you, for I have learn all at once so much that again I am dazzle—dazzle more than ever, and I must think.

  Yours the most faithful,

  Abraham Van Helsing

  Moments after this letter arrived, I received a wire from Jonathan, saying that his business was concluded and he was returning earlier than expected—that very night, in fact. Elated, I dashed off a note to Dr. Van Helsing, inviting him to breakfast the next morning.

  It was half-past ten when Jonathan walked through the front door. I flew into his arms. “Dearest, I have such news! Wait until you hear!”

  “What is it? My goodness, Mina, you look very excited. What has happened?”

  “Come into the dining-room,” I said, taking him by the hand. “I have supper ready, and I will tell you all about it.”