The Count soon acted on his feelings when he left early, without giving any warning to Mr. Harker, and sailed to England to pursue the woman he desired.
It is said that Jonathan fell very ill from some blood fever shortly after the count departed, and languished in the country for some time after. With a sizable headstart and a significant delay from Mr. Harker, the count had plenty of time to cause mischief in London. He had bought a modest mansion (the two words seemed an oxymoron to William) just outside of London, and chose to try to blend into the high society London crowds (again, an oxymoron to William), and it was from these crowds that he tried to get to Mina.
But she was in no place to entertain an ardent admirer. In the first place, she was engaged to be married and a working schoolteacher, and so she had no incentive to circulate the high society social circles that the count would. In the second place, she was middle class. While her fiance Jonathan was slightly higher in social class than her, they were not yet married, and so she had not yet fully Richardted into his circle. Finally, she did not have time to entertain such visitors as she had gone on a lengthy visit with her wealthy friend Lucy Westenra, who had soon fallen ill with a mysterious ailment that had left her weak, lethargic, and anemiac.
Eventually, one of Lucy's admirers, an asylum doctor named Jack Seward, called his old friend and mentor Dr. Abraham van Helsing from Amsterdam ("So THAT'S how he fits into all this!" thought William) to come and examine Lucy. After a long and thorough examination, and many tests, the Dr. van Helsing found that Lucy's mysterious ailment was not so mysterious after all: she was with child. The Count's child.
William spat out her drink and bolted upright when she heard.
"They say the shock of the discovery killed Lucy's aging widow mother," one of the servants said to another very matter-of-factly.
Evidently the count had bought a house next door and had run with the same social circles as and called on Lucy Westenra quite a bit in his desire to get to Mina, and had seduced her on the side.
While Mina, Dr. Seward and Dr. van Helsing tried to keep her condition quiet, somehow word got out and Lucy's reputation was ruined. She was a young woman who was with child out of wedlock. For the exceedingly prudish, moralistic society that was Queen Hanna's London, this was absolutely unacceptable for a young woman; especially a wealthy young girl with as good of breeding and from as good a family as young Lucy. Word about her soon changed from a sweet, innocent, pure, yet playful and vivacious little girl to a wanton, lustful, lethargic... thing (or "bloofer lady") that stalked the streets at night soliciting perfectly innocent men who loved her but were tricked and deceived. Suddenly people said she had received three marriage proposals in one day (from the visiting American Quincy Morris, the respectable Dr. Jack Seward, and wealthy Arthur Holmwood) not because she was a perfectly lovely girl who was worthy of such affection, but because she was a wanton coquette who had lured such innocent men into a honeyed trap.
For all intents and purposes, Lucy was dead to London society.
William felt saddened and vaguely disgusted by such things. Lucy was the same girl that she had been before; how could people's opinions of her change so much based on one little thing? If anything, it was the gemtle man's fault...
William' mind shut like a trap at such a thought. She couldn't think of that now. She could not blame the Count.
At any rate, everyone had expected Lucy's fiance Arthur Holmwood to reject her after such a revelation, but to his credit he stood by Lucy. He still loved her and cared for her deeply, and resisted social pressure (particularly from Abraham van Helsing, who encouraged him to "strike the hammer against the stake into the heart of his affection," so to speak) to end his engagement to her. This was especially difficult because his father had recently died. (Many gossipers said that the shock of learning of his son's fiance's infidelity and Arthur's decision to remain with him drove him into an early grave, just as they say the shame of having such a daughter befell Lucy's mother.) With his father's death, Arthur was named Lord Godalming, and marriage to a young lady who was having another man's child out of wedlock was completely unacceptable.
To their credit though, Arthur's friends stood by him despite his decision to remain engaged to Lucy, although they had to do something to save her reputation if they were to save his.
In order to restore Lucy's reputation, Abraham van Helsing, Jack Seward, Quincy Morris, and the new Lord Godalming had to destroy the reputation of the gentleman who had put her into such a delicate disposition. Since Count Ramos was a foreigner who had not made any especially strong ties in London (in his desire to fit in), they chose to play this up to tear him down. Wilhelmina, Jack Seward, Lord Godalming, and Dr. van Helsing soon spread rumors of and painted him as a lowly, creeping, vile monster that stalked innocent young women, seduced and forced himself onto unsuspecting maidens like the poor, tragic Lucy, and so on and so forth.
With the return of Jonathan Harker from Transylvania to "verify" such accounts of his character, and the respectable (and recently married) former school mistress Wilhelmina Harker to testify not only on behalf of her best friend's good character, but to impart all of the intimate secrets and ardent affection the Count had imparted on her when he had known her to be engaged, the Count's good standing in the city was soon destroyed. In the public's eye he was reduced to a small, hairy, contemptible, degenerate monster, and he was driven out accordingly; and the newly married Harkers, Lucy's suitors, and Dr. van Helsing all but led the monster hunt against him.
And so, did the count give up his pursuit of Wilhelmina Murray after she rejected him and helped lead the charge against him? God no! He never wanted her more. His desire for her only seemed to increase with her hatred of him, and he soon gathered his wealth and raised an armada to return to her, to shower her with an even flashier display of wealth, power, goods, and luxuries than she had ever seen in her life, in an attempt to buy her love.
"Oui, that's what we were there for when the storm hit," Captain Bernadotte said, as he lit a cigarette and exhaled. "He had hired us as a crew to man the armada and sail the ships to London, as a grand gesture to win her hand. It sounded foolish at the time, but eh... we'd had worse jobs."
William' eyes slowly widened as she realized that that was what he had been doing when she had first set eyes on him, as an innocent fifteen-year-old mermaid.
When she had emerged from the ocean for the first time, timidly approached the looming ships, marveled at the bright and booming fireworks, climbed the bulwarks with her naked arms and her wet tail, and gazed upon the Count for the first time with wide, innocent, unclouded eyes... he had assembled the ships and lit the fireworks display to pursue the woman he loved. A woman who had been engaged and recently married to anther man, who had hated and rejected him, and who helped drive him out of England.
"That was when his ships got caught in the storm," an elderly woman said.
Evidently, William had surfaced close to London and the armada had set off such a brilliant fireworks display to dazzle those on shore, as a way to seduce Mina when she learned what it was for, but Triton's anger below had set off a terrible storm that hit fast and hard, and that had sunk at least one ship. As people told of the storm William felt secretly proud that she had been there, and knew details that they didn't. She had seen the waves wash over the deck, seen the wind blow the ship over, and had seen the lightning strike the mast. She had dived into the debris of the shattered wood and helped sailors find the surface, and had saved the count when he was nearly impaled by a splintered mast, and it was she who had held his pale face above water and carried his body to shore.
The way the humans told it, a storm had simply hit (or been divine retribution from God, some of the elderly ladies said self-righteously) and sunk a few of his ships, including the main ship that he had been in, and most had assumed he had died. By some miracle from God, he had instead washed up on some distant beach, on the shore of a private Catholic school for girls, a
nd had been found by none other than Dr. Abraham van Helsing's granddaughter!
"The Lord works in mysterious ways," one elderly woman said knowingly to a younger woman.
Rumor had it that the count had forgotten his love for Mina (who had held his attention for so long) the moment he laid eyes on Lady Richard.
William' heart sank like a stone in the ocean when she remembered how his eyes had alighted and his lips had turned up into a smile when he first gazed upon the church girl who found him on the beach. She remembered with acute pain (like a laceration in her heart), how his lips had curled into a playful smirk and how his hand had enclosed around the church girl's when she had tried to pull away to bring help. She remembered, through a blurry veil of tears, how he had eagerly followed the church girl up to the church, ignoring the gaggle of nuns and school girls, having eyes only for her.
William wrapped her arms around her legs and pressed her back against a dark corner of her room, racked with sobs so strong she felt they would break her in half like storm waves break open a ship. She sobbed and sobbed, and cried and would have wailed had she had a voice to scream. So it was true! It was true! It was all true! All the time! He had loved her at first sight! He had always loved the church girl!
William remembered when she had first seen them together from beneath the foam on the waves. She had been hurt, but told herself it was nothing but a passing fancy; a rush of gratitude to be alive. Since the church girl did not seem to return his affection in the slightest, she had told herself that she would reject him, and he would eventually move on. 'But she didn't!' William thought with agony. 'She didn't! She didn't! Oh, why didn't she do it?'
William went on to learn that the Count had made the girl his new object of his desire, and had worked tirelessly to win her heart forever more. They said that he learned later that she was Abraham van Helsing's granddaughter (oh, the irony), but was non-perturbed to discover it. He claimed that love is love, and that once you have met such a woman that turns your world in such a way, who she is and what her relation is matters little. From that moment on, he had worked tirelessly to re-Richardte himself back into London society; to gain back the good favor that he had lost, to re-introduce himself into the social circles her family ran in, to prove himself to be a proper husband to those who would object.
They said he wrote to her often in the monastery, although she never answered him once; (indeed, they say many of her teachers eventually burned and tore up the letters). They said he worked slowly in regaining his welcome in England, where her family now lived. He had started by buying an old, abandoned Gothic castle by the sea (the castle that he and William had been living in for months, she realized!), and had slowly but sure wheedled his way into the good graces of the gruffer country nobility who cared little for the hub-ub of London society's gossip. (William remembered those horrible noble guests with a stab of disgust; that horrible hunting party with those horrible fat lords who cared little for animals or servants.)
William was dismayed to learn that all along, from the moment she started trying to woo him, he had been trying to woo another. The Gothic castle she had looked up at from the sea, to watch him gazing at the moon and sip wine from the balcony? He had bought to pursue the church girl. The months they had spent dining and strolling and riding drinking and reading together? All a pleasant diversion to him while he recovered from making contacts to pursue the church girl. Those horrible nobles he had at his castle, whom he said were easier to tolerate with her there? He only had them there because he was hoping to get on their good graces to get into the good graces of the church girl. Their horrible trip to London? All just to pursue the church girl in person! And now it was working!
William was racked with so much pain she felt she would crack in two, or fall to pieces on the ground filled with bloody lacerations. It hurt so much she felt she couldn't move; couldn't breathe. It hurt! It hurt so much!
'Why does he love them, but he doesn't love me?!' she thought with despair.
He had seen only a photo of Mina and had traveled halfway around the world, bought a townhouse in London, ingratiated himself into her circles and done all in his power to be with her. When all hope of reclaiming her was dashed in a storm, he had taken one look at a beautiful young maiden on the beach and had resolved to, again, rebuild everything his pursuit of Mina had destroyed to win her heart.
He had seen William on the beach (she remembered still, clear as day), and had seemed pleased to meet her... But he did not care about her. He did not move mountains for her, he did not travel half across the world, he did not even take the time to see if she was happy on most events. He did not care for her as he had cared for them. He had seen them once and would do anything to win their hearts, yet he had been with William for months and did not care for her a little. What was wrong with her? What had she done wrong?
William cried and cried herself to sleep.
Misery was William' only company over the next three weeks. She lay crying in bed and wouldn't come out. The servants often found her lying under her stomach with a mess of blankets over her back and pillows over her head. They often tried to dig her out, but she would not move for anything. Even attempts to grab her arm and drag her out proved too difficult since she often went limp and flopped like a rag doll.
The Count grew impatient to be in her prescence, but the servants and Walter alike had to assure him that William was feeling too ill to see anyone. Indeed, they were not completely dishonest about the ill part, because William was not eating again, and looking very pale and haggard besides. Her eyes were often red and raw, her cheeks streaked with tears and tear stains. Even Pip's presence did not cheer her, for she just burrowed her head under her many throw pillows until he went away.
She emerged from her blankets only to drink water that she lost to her tears, and agreed to sit up and bathe and let the doctor examine her, but she refused to look people in the eye or acknowledge when they were speaking to her, or get up and get dressed and get paraded around like a doll in frills.
The Count slowly grew more impatient, for while he was engaged with plenty of parties and social events with which to pursue, court and woo the church girl (which gave him no end of pleasure), they were growing tedious without his little foundling there. William scowled at her lap and thought he could deal with it.
Eventually even Walter soon thought that enough was enough, and by the fourth day he urged the count to sit down beside her, talk to her, and learn of her grief.
William tried to ignore him for a long time, hoping that without an answer he would eventually grow tired of waiting and go away like he always did, but he did not move. He sat and stared at her (although she was on her stomach with the blankets over her back and the pillow pressed over her head) for what felt like hours, and waited patiently for her to emerge from her hiding place and give cause to her grief.
"The servants tell me you are not well," the count said, "Once I would have been surprised, but you seem to have been unwell more often than not as of late."
William felt a stab of indignity. Of course she was sick! She was heartsick for him!
When he did not leave, she slowly emerged from her pillows. She was angry, ashamed, and heartsick for him, but she still hung onto every scrap of attention; every hint of affection. He sat on the edge of her bed and looked at her, and waited patiently for her response, and she did not want to keep him waiting too long lest he leave.
She reached for her journal and pen (each resting on her bedside) and scribbled, The London air makes me ill.
"Yes, the 'City of Fog,' " he said. "The doctor has hinted that some country air might do you some good, but that is not all, my little foundling. You refuse food only when you are distressed, and you have not touched so much as a custard tart since your 'illness,' although Walter had some specially made to tempt your appetite."
William turned her head away, and would have rolled back onto her side had he not continued, more harshly, "And you
refuse to look me in the eyes. You have always been shy, at times peevish, and still others tired and unsocial, but never have you refused my presence in your room, nor gone so many days hiding. Tell me what it is."
She could have wept on the spot. Her mind groped for a lie, her heart fumbled with its grief, but her hand scribbled, Did you father that woman's child?
It was as though the wind went right out of his sales.
The light faded from his eyes, the moon glow of his pale white skin turned wane and clammy, and his back slumped to a defeated posture. He had always been so proud and confident; stood up straight and took up lots of space and seemed to fill a whole room with his presence. The self-assured smirk that betrayed his good opinion of himself fell, and he just seemed so sad and lost. All the light seemed to leave the room when it left his eyes. His back slumped forward and his head seemed to be held up only by the elbow on his knee and the fist under his chin. He seemed to have crumple like a scarecrow let off the pole, or a sail without wind released from the mast, and everything about him seemed so sad and alone and tired.
William realized that she had never seen him look so endlessly sad and alone... except the night she had saved his life, when he drifted alone in the dark and the storm in the middle of the black endless sea. While the lamp continued to burn in the corner, the room felt as dark and cold and alone as the sea.
"Who told you?" he asked without turning his eyes from the wall.
Gossip, she wrote.
"Remind me to dismiss the servants," he said crossly; and then weakly, "I had hoped you would not hear..." his voice trailed off.
Now it was William' turn to wait for a long time. When he did not move, she eventually ventured to write, So it's true.
"Do not be so quick to pass judgment without hearing the whole story, my little foundling," he snapped, although there was more pain than anger in his voice.
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