by Kim Newman
A caption in Hammer Films Gothic crawls across the screen.
STENTORIAN NARRATOR
In 1885, Count Dracula travelled from his castle in Transylvania to London, intent on founding a new order of beings whose road leads through Death not Life. The story has it that Professor Van Helsing gathered together stalwart Englishmen and women to defeat the vampire, expelling him from these shores, ultimately destroying him. But what would London, what would the world, have been like if Van Helsing had failed? This is the city that might have been if the Count had prevailed. Dracula has taken by force Queen Victoria as his bride, and declared himself Prince Consort and Lord Protector of Great Britain and her Empire...
Music: the stirring preamble to ‘Rule Britannia’. A solo voice, strong but feminine, begins ‘When Britain first at Heaven’s command, arose from out the azure main, this was the charter, the charter of the land, and guardian angels sang this strain...’
We pull back to see that the spear is one of a row standing outside Buckingham Palace. The building is illuminated by barbarian torches. Other poles support impaled corpses. At the doors stand wolf-faced guards in full uniform.
‘Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves, and Britons never never never shall be slaves...’
EXT. BUCKINGHAM PALACE. NIGHT.
A heraldic shield: the lion and unicorn of Britain transformed into gape-mouthed monsters, overlaid with the bat standard of Dracula. This device is on the door of a carriage, drawn by black horses down the driveway. A GUARDSMAN salutes the carriage, He has a bestial snout, red eyes, vampire fangs. The main gates open, and the carriage trundles into Birdcage Walk.
EXT. LONDON. NIGHT.
The carriage proceeds through the streets. We glimpse scenes of a transformed Victorian London. Lamp-lighters touch sparks to gas-jets producing puffs of flame, well-dressed toffs bothered by street urchins, policemen march in pairs, an organ grinder plays for a horned imp. An effete DANDY, in extravagant black clothes, tries to fend off a plump WHORE: his face is skull-white but for penny-sized rouge spots on his cheeks; he too has fangs.
About a quarter of the people we see on the streets are vampires.
Some newly-raised from the dead, Victorians with large teeth; others are medieval monsters imported by Dracula. Some part-animal, others visibly decrepit or mutated, some lithe and alive in un-death. All eyes turn as the carriage passes. Some shrink in fear, some doff hats, others peer with curiosity. A WOMAN crosses herself; a POLICEMAN batters her with a truncheon.
At a crossroads, a party of Carpathian soldiers, directed by RUPERT OF HENTZAU*, a dashing vampire, erect a sharpened wooden stake. A CONDEMNED MAN, dressed in a nightshirt, struggles as the soldiers hoist him up and impale him on the stake. Blood gushes on the pavement. A vampire CHILD darts out of the crowd, laps it up like a dog, and is shooed away.
HENTZAU (reading aloud from a proclamation)
So perish all who defy the rule of Prince Dracula, Lord Protector of These Isles.
We rise above the coach as if on batwings, and look over the city. This is the West End, the well-lit civilised area, hectic with theatre crowds and night life. Human-sized wing-shapes flit between the taller buildings. The river, glinting red in the light as if its waters were blood, snakes through the city. This is the beating heart of an empire. We travel into the dark, away from the light.
EXT. WHITECHAPEL. NIGHT.
We descend into Commercial Road. Moonlight shines through thin wisps of fog on to wet cobbles. We pass a pub, the Ten Bells, from which raucous laughter and pianola music emerges. We pass Toynbee Hall, an educational institute. We pass street people –urchins, policemen, whores, loafers, slummers. We slip up to an alley, where a woman’s voice sounds, a wordless ululation related to ‘Mack the Knife’. Fog swirls thicker. It is a rich yellow, with drifts of red.
We have been following a glimpsed, shadowy figure. JACK, a man in a top hat with a black ulster, carries a medical bag. We do not see his face§. His bag chinks, as implements shift inside. He wears black gloves. JACK pauses at the entrance to the alley, struck by the strange song.
His silhouette frames against a poster. REWARD OFFERED FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO THE ARREST OF ‘SILVER KNIFE’, THE WHITECHAPEL MURDERER. Small print details the murders of Annie Chapman and Polly Nicholls. The description is of JACK.
EXT. CHICKSAND STREET, WHITECHAPEL. NIGHT.
JACK steps into the alley. A shaft of moonlight spotlights LULU, a whore with Chinese bangs. She waves her shawl like the fronds of a sea anemone. Smiling with red lips, she continues her siren song. A tight kimono stretches over her boyish body. JACK steps towards her.
JACK clutches his bag.
LULU (slight German accent)
Mister, misssster... Such a handsome gentleman. Come and kiss me, sir. Just a little kiss.
LULU beckons, lacquered nails glittering. JACK touches her face. Even through gloves, her skin is ice. She has delicate pearl-chip fangs, and a red cast to her eyes.
JACK
What brought you to this... condition?
LULU
Good fortune and kind gentlemen.
JACK
Kind?
LULU produces a sprig of mistletoe and holds it up.
LULU
A kiss, kind sir. It’s just a penny for a kiss.
JACK
It’s early for Christmas. September.
LULU
Always time for a kiss.
LULU shakes her sprig and kisses JACK on the lips. His bag is open. He puts a silvered scalpel into her ribs, pressing lightly. LULU changes, face distorting catlike as she hisses venom in JACK’s face. Her fangs extend; she is ready to rip out his throat. The scalpel slides into her chest and blood gushes.
We pull back, as JACK incises deeper. LULU’s animal howls disturb the fog. Then, stillness and quiet. We focus on the poster.
JACK staggers past, leaving a bloody handprint on the poster. In the distance, a police whistle shrills.
DRAWING ROOM, CHELSEA. INT. NIGHT.
The whistle fades into a piano, played not quite expertly. In the home of FLORENCE STOKER, about fifteen well-dressed men and women gather for a soirée. At the piano is PENELOPE CHURCHWARD, 19, a pretty, calculating girl. Beside her, turning the pages, is ARTHUR HOLMWOOD, Lord Godalming, an elegant new-born vampire.
PENELOPE (sings)
She was only a bird in a gilded cage,
A beautiful sight to see,
You thought she was happy and free from
care,
But she’s not what she seems to be...(etc)
Watching is CHARLES BEAUREGARD, a handsome man in his 30s, less flashy but more stalwart than ARTHUR. By him is KATE REED, 25; a bespectacled new woman (a journalist) rather than an ornament (like PENELOPE). FLORENCE, older than PENELOPE but of the same type, presides. A black-bordered picture of BRAM STOKER, her husband, stands on the mantel. To CHARLES’s well-concealed dislike, ARTHUR tries to exert his power of fascination over PENELOPE. KATE has a crush on CHARLES but realises she has no chance. Discreet servants attend.
PENELOPE (sings)
... for youth should not mate with age.
Her beauty was sold for an old man’s
gold.
She’s a bird in a gilded cage.
ARTHUR, leading the clapping, nuzzles nearer PENELOPE’s exposed neck, tiny fangs poking through his subtle leer. CHARLES steps in, to KATE’s disappointment, and steers PENELOPE out of social danger. PENELOPE accepts all attentions as her due.
FLORENCE (fussing)
Dear friends, dear friends, an announcement is imminent. Charles, Penelope...
CHARLES is reluctant, PENELOPE eager. They are the centre of attention, which he dislikes and she adores.
CHARLES
Very well, Florence. Since Arthur’s ennoblement as Lord Godalming, I am forced to preface my announcement with the traditional address, my lords, ladies and gentlemen...
ARTHUR
Come on, Beauregard.
Out with it.
CHARLES
Penelope, ah, Miss Churchward... has done me the honour...
Everybody knows what he means, but he can’t quite say it.
PENELOPE (impatient)
We’re to be married. In the Spring. Next year.
PENELOPE holds CHARLES’s hand, proprietorially. Everyone gathers and makes a fuss.
ARTHUR (shaking CHARLES’s hand crushingly)
Congratulations, old man.
KATE, in tears, hugs PENELOPE.
PENELOPE
Oh Kate, don’t be such a drip.
KATE shakes CHARLES’s hand, unable to speak, then hugs him too.
FLORENCE
There must be a toast.
BESSIE, a maid, brings out a bottle of champagne. FLORENCE holds it up, and ARTHUR takes it.
ARTHUR
Allow me.
FLORENCE
Thank you, Art. I’m so feeble.
ARTHUR’s thumbnail extends like a tiny horn. He hooks it into the cork and flips it out of the bottle. He pours for everyone, but holds up an empty glass himself.
ARTHUR
For me, this is a sad moment. I’ve lost again to my good friend Charles Beauregard. I shall never recover, but I acknowledge Charles as the better man. I trust he will serve my dearest Penny as a husband should. If he fails in his duty, I shall myself, being un-dead, take seriously my obligation to haunt him to the grave. To the beautiful Penelope, and the admirable Charles...
Everyone except ARTHUR drinks the toast. PENELOPE relishes it, CHARLES puts up with it. FLORENCE notices ARTHUR’s empty glass.
FLORENCE
I am so sorry, Art. I was forgetting.
ARTHUR
There’s no need.
FLORENCE
But I insist. Bessie, Lord Godalming doesn’t drink champagne. Would you...
BESSIE, a little frightened, has been through this before. She unbuttons her cuffs. ARTHUR takes her wrist, rolling up the sleeve, and bends as if to kiss her hand. He looks at CHARLES and PENELOPE, eyes flashing red, teeth extending.
ARTHUR
Charles, Penelope, I drink to you...
Opening his mouth wide on jaw-hinges like a cobra, ARTHUR fastens on BESSIE’s wrist, lightly puncturing the skin. He licks away a blood trickle. The company watch, CHARLES swallowing distaste, PENELOPE fascinated. ARTHUR drinks. BESSIE, eyes fluttering somewhere between pain and pleasure, swoons in ARTHUR’s arms.
ARTHUR (smiling bloodily)
I have this effect on women. It’s most inconvenient.
He deposits BESSIE on a divan. In the background, a BUTLER waves smelling salts under her nose, reviving her. PENELOPE links arms with CHARLES, who is momentarily distracted. She smiles, and he is jollied out of his perturbation.
FLORENCE
Now, now. There’ll be plenty of time for that after the wedding. In the mean time, you must be unselfish and share yourselves with the rest of us...
ARTHUR
I claim my right as the vanquished sir knight. A kiss! I claim a kiss from the bride.
CHARLES blanches but PENELOPE lets ARTHUR kiss her cheek, leaving an unremarked blush of blood. Guests press around, separating PENELOPE from CHARLES. He watches her display her engagement ring. Suddenly, swiftly, disturbingly, ARTHUR is beside him. His fangs are vestigial, but the blood has enlivened him.
ARTHUR
Sincerely, Charles, my congratulations. You and Penny must be happy. It is an order. We need more like you. You must turn soon. Things are getting exciting.
CHARLES
Turn?
ARTHUR
You understand, Charles. You must become... as I am.
CHARLES
A vampire.
ARTHUR
Indeed. You can’t know what it’s like. It’s life.
CHARLES
Some say it’s death.
ARTHUR
Pshaw. Penny is lovely, Charles. Loveliness should not be permitted to fade. And we need men of your sort. We’ve an opportunity to make the country strong. The Prince Consort has given us this chance.
CHARLES
Dracula?
ARTHUR
We were so wrong about him in the beginning. Van Helsing and Jack Seward and myself. He came not as a conqueror but as our saviour.
During this exchange, a bell has rung in the hallway. A BUTLER, having answered the door, returns with a note for CHARLES. ARTHUR is interested. CHARLES reads and lets nothing on.
CHARLES
You’ll excuse me, Art.
FLORENCE’S HALLWAY. INT. NIGHT.
A COACHMAN waits. CHARLES puts on his cloak and hat, and draws a cane from the umbrella stand. PENELOPE comes to detain him.
PENELOPE (annoyed)
Charles, you’re not leaving so soon.
CHARLES
Sometimes my time is not my own. I’m sure Art, or Kate, will see you home.
CHARLES kisses her and tastes salt. He wipes the trace of blood off her cheek, smiles, and leaves with the COACHMAN.
PENELOPE (determined)
Charles Beauregard, things will be different once we are married.
ALLEY, WHITECHAPEL. EXT. NIGHT.
LULU lies dissected in a pool of fog that obscures her most hideous wounds. LESTRADE, a vampire, directs two CONSTABLES in examining the body. LESTRADE has rat-whiskers, a bowler hat and a sour expression. A peering mob is held back by policemen. CHARLES makes his way through.
CHARLES
Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland Yard.
LESTRADE
Mr Beauregard. It’s a bad business. (To the CONSTABLES) Let him look.
The CONSTABLES stand aside.
CHARLES (not flinching)
Like the others? Heart cut out?
LESTRADE
Neatly done with a silver scalpel. None of your wooden stake nonsense.
CHARLES
Who was she?
LESTRADE
Lulu Schön. A new-born vampire. German, we think. Common prostitute, like the others.
CHARLES
This is... what, the fourth?
LESTRADE
No one is sure. The sensation press have exhumed every unsolved East End killing of the past thirty years.
CHARLES
How many are you certain of?
LESTRADE
We’ll not even be certain of Schön until the inquest, though I’ll lay my pension on her. I make her the third, after Annie Chapman and Polly Nichols.
CHARLES
They were all, ah...
LESTRADE
Vampires, sir? Yes. Silver Knife is a vampire killer. Van Helsing would have been proud of him.
CHARLES (looking close at the remains)
This man hates. With a passion. The murders must be committed in a frenzy, yet there’s a coolness to the work. He kills out on the street in the open. He doesn’t just butcher, he dissects. And vampires are not easy to kill.
LESTRADE (holds up LULU’s clawed hand)
He surprises them, sir. Or they’d tear him apart.
CHARLES
Our Silver Knife is not just a simple lunatic, Inspector. He has a reason.
The CONSTABLES lift LULU, shifting the corpse into a horse-drawn wagon. The crowd hisses. CHARLES looks at the cobbles and is reflected in moonlit blood.
LESTRADE
He must be stopped before there’s general panic. The situation is unbalanced enough as it is. These killings upset people, warm and un-dead.
CHARLES
Indubitably. It sounds like an affair for your old associate, Mr Holmes.
LESTRADE
He is not at liberty to investigate, sir. He has differences with the current government.
CHARLES
That ass Lord Ruthven, the Prime Minister, has packed him off to those pens on the Sussex Downs. What does the Pall Mall Gazette call them? Concentration camps?
LESTRADE (uncomfortable)
Indeed. He’s in Devil’s Dyke.
&n
bsp; CHARLES
Well, you’ll have to catch Silver Knife yourself. I’ll make my report and see if the Diogenes Club can make any contribution.
LESTRADE (gloomy)
All help welcome, sir.
CHARLES
No doubt. I’m going to root around a bit on my own, see if anything turns up.
LESTRADE (doubtful)
If you think that’s wise.
CHARLES (waving cane)
I can look after myself, Inspector. Her Majesty’s Service has taken me to tight spots before. I’ve faced the stranglers of Bombay and the man-killers of Kilimanjaro.
LESTRADE (after CHARLES has gone)
But you don’t know the women of Whitechapel, clever sir.
§ The producers wanted to keep the Ripper’s identity secret for the bulk of the film, making it a murder mystery. While writing the novel, I briefly considered the possibility of having Seward’s phonograph diary be fake – planted by the real Ripper (yes, it would have been Arthur) to frame his old friend. I didn’t take that route because it struck me as being a bit too much like one of those 1960s William Castle or Jimmy Sangster movies which offer a surprise ending at the expense of involvement with the characters.
* * *
DARK PLACE. INT. DAY.
A room blacked-out against the sun. Aladdin-style lamps burn, disclosing chinoiserie. VARDALEK, burning with humiliation, stands in the light. A CHINESE GIRL is with him. Two other figures, shadowed, are in the room: the GIRL’S FATHER, a criminal mastermind, and MR YEE, an ancient Chinese vampire in mandarin robes.
VARDALEK
It is my understanding that a murder may be purchased here.
CHINESE GIRL
Many things are for sale in my father’s domain. He is the Lord of Strange Deaths. But you are of the Carpathian Guard, why should you entreat a favour of those as unworthy as we? Do you not have friends, more powerful even than my father?
VARDALEK
I do not wish to involve the Prince Consort in this squabble. It would be undignified.
CHINESE GIRL
You do not wish Prince Dracula to know you were bested in full view of many warm Britishers by the French girl?
VARDALEK
You impertinent celestial devil...
GIRL’S FATHER claps, silencing VARDALEK.
CHINESE GIRL
My father understands your position. Please place the coins in my detestable palm.
From a purse, VARDALEK draws gold coins, which he doles out. He stops. CHINESE GIRL’s hand is still out. He grudgingly pays more. Finally, she turns away and kneels before GIRL’S FATHER.