Mina Part 21

Gance walked to the window and looked down at the gardens below. "He's not there now. I'll go and look to him."

"I'll come with you," Mina said and followed him quickly down the stairs.

Gance halted at the French doors that led from the dining room into the garden. "Wait!" he said and opened a drawer in the sideboard. The gun he sought was not in its place so he took a knife instead. He was about to ring for a servant when Mina gave a cry and pointed to the French doors leading to the patio.

The old man stood just outside, staring through the gla.s.s at them with eyes glazed by the beginnings of cataracts. Though a cape covered his body, Mina could see that his stance was stooped and he leaned heavily on the cane. "Hardly a threat," Gance said.

"Let's make certain he's just a vagrant before I have him thrown out." He handed Mina the knife and opened the doors.

The man's expression did not change as they approached him. He stood, one hand on the walking stick, the other hidden beneath his cloak. "You are Lord Gance?" he asked in thickly accented English.Gance nodded.

"You are Ion Sebescue?" Mina asked.

"Yes," the man replied, his attention still on Gance. "Your carriage was far from its usual route last night."

"A business matter," Gance said.

"A translation," the man responded. "And you found the body my son so pathetically concealed."

"He didn't have to kill Mr. Ujvari," Mina said. "He'd done nothing wrong."

"He attacked my son. James had the right to defend himself. What James did after was a precaution, nothing more."

"Your son did more than defend himself," Mina retorted. "I saw the body. I know what he did."

"Ujvari was your accomplice."

"In what crime?" Gance demanded.

"To the crimes the woman would commit if I do not stop her." Ion Sebescue's voice was bitter, desperate. Gance moved toward him. As he did, the old man raised the gun he had been hiding beneath the cloak. "Sit on the ground," he said, keeping the weapon pointed at Gance.

They did as he asked. "What do you want with us?" Gance asked.

"My son and I have been on a hunt, Lord Gance. We have hunted the woman as we hunt all her kind." He slid his hand down the cane, lifted it and pointed the sharpened tip at Mina's chest.

"My kind?" Mina wanted to laugh, but she was not so certain any longer. "Look at me." She pulled back her lips. "There are no fangs in my mouth." She raised her skirt and pointed to a sc.r.a.pe on her s.h.i.+n. "I received this yesterday. If I were a vampire it would have healed, would it not?"

"The journal you gave to Mr. Ujvari to translate could only have come from the devil's lair. No one can go there and leave of their own free will unless-"

"Dracula is dead," Mina told him. "Abraham Van Helsing told us what to do. We pounded a stake through his heart. We cut off his head. His body is dust. I saw it crumble." Mina noted the glimmer of hope in the old man's eyes, saw him look almost joyfully from her to Gance. In that instant, he noticed the tip of the mark Mina had made on Gance's neck. He fixed his attention on Mina, noting the cut on her chest, the bruise around it. His expression hardened to rage, his grip on his weapon tightened.

"You lie! They only let you go because though you still live and walk by day, in death you will become one of them. Nosferatu.

You will rise here, spreading their curse through mankind. Their way is your way, even if you do not know it yet. May G.o.d have mercy on both your souls."

Mina had done everything right, Gance thought. She had kept the old man talking, had kept his attention on her as Gance waited for the safest moment to attack. It would never come. "No!" Gance bellowed and lunged. He was a moment too slow. The gun fired, hitting him in the chest.

Sebescue dropped the revolver and charged Mina, the stake held high in both hands. She rolled sideways, las.h.i.+ng out with the hand that held the knife. She had intended to do nothing more than deflect his blow, but the blade slipped off the stake and into the old man's stomach just below his ribs. He fell against her, the weight of his body pus.h.i.+ng the knife deeper. His hands clutched her, weakening, trying to destroy with the last bit of life left in his body.

Servants, responding to the shot, were running from the house and grounds as Sebescue died. The cook carried a cleaver; the groom had unleashed the hound. With no foe to hunt any longer, the dog ran to his master and licked his hand. While the butler saw to Gance, the cook rolled the body off Mina and tried to calm her, but she could scarcely hear the soothing words. There was blood an the ground, blood on her hands and arms and white lace blouse, blood flowing far too swiftly from Gance's chest.

So many had died defending her! Too many! "Gance!" she screamed and pulled out of the cook's grasp, crawling toward her lover. As the servants parted so she could go to his side, Mina bolted through the house and out the front doors.

Jonathan! If she could only reach him. Confess. Explain. He would know what to do. He would know.

The servants caught her waving her b.l.o.o.d.y hands, trying to hail a cab, sobbing because no one would stop. They took her inside and tried to calm her so they could clean the blood off her. She ranted, sobbed and would not allow it. Finally, with no other choice, they held her while the doctor who was treating Gance poured a dose of laudanum down her throat. Afterward, they locked her in the guest room until the drug took effect.When she was sedated, pliant, lost in her own terrible thoughts, they bathed her and dressed her in a clean gown. She did not ask about Gance, lying unconscious in his bedroom. Indeed, she made no requests at all.

She ate when they fed her, did not protest when they left her with the suggestion that she try to sleep. She did exactly as they asked until the sedative wore off.

When she understood that she was a prisoner here, she began to pound on the door and demand to be released. In her state, the staff dared not let her go, and the doctor refused to drug her further. With his master near death, the head butler did the only thing that seemed right under the circ.u.mstances. He sent for Jonathan Harker.

TWENTY-ONE

I

As soon as Mina had left for the station, Millicent walked across town to Jonathan's office. As she described the nervous state Mina had been in when she left the house, it occurred to Jonathan that if Millicent had taken a cab here, he might have reached Mina before the train left. Most likely the thought of him and his wife having a scene at the station had been more of a scandal than Millicent could bear.

When Millicent had finished her story, she handed Jonathan the note Mina had written him. Her expression indicated that she'd expected this betrayal from Mina all along.

Duty done, Millicent sat silently while Jonathan opened the envelope and read the note. I have urgent business in London concerning our trip to the Continent. When I come home, I will have the means to explain everything. I love you. It all seemed so d.a.m.ning but for those last three words. She did love him, he had no doubt of it, just as he had no doubt that he loved her. Yet their ideas of love could well be worlds apart. It occurred to him that he had never really inquired what it was she expected from him. He had only a.s.sumed.

"I'll go now, Jonathan," Millicent said.

"I'll be home early." For the first time in a week, he thought as he said it, and winced.

Jonathan and his aunt did not speak about Mina that night. They hardly spoke at all. The few times he looked at her across the wide dining table, Jonathan saw a frigid determination in Millicent's expression and tried to mirror it in his own. Mina had no right to leave him with such a cryptic explanation, nor any right to keep secrets from him. He tried to be angry, and failed. He did not sleep at all that night, and in the morning he had no desire for food. Even if he'd wished to go to work, work would have been impossible.

No, he could not idly go about his business and wait for her to return. He said as much to his aunt as he packed a traveling bag.

She stood in his bedroom doorway, her arms crossed, her eyes filled with fury. "After what she did, you would abandon you clients to go after her?"

"Aunt Millicent, Mina hinted at things you cannot understand."

"I know enough, Jonathan. This isn't the first time Mina has gone to London on the sly."

"What do you mean?"

"The portraits above the fireplace were not painted in London but here in Exeter. If you like, I can show you the man's card."

"It won't be necessary," Jonathan replied. "I will not judge her until I speak to her. Wire me at Seward's if you hear anything from her."

"Jonathan, you can't go after her."

He looked at her, thinking of all the kindness she had shown him over the years, and all the bitterness in her heart. "Wire me or you will no longer be welcome in this house," he said, buckled his suitcase straps and left.

He stopped at work only long enough to a.s.sign others to his own projects, then caught the mid-morning train to London. He got off at Purfleet station and walked to Jack Seward's. He hadn't wired Seward. Someone was always at the asylum, and Jonathan was known to the staff. The walk led him past the ancient ruins of Carfax, and he shuddered, as if the horrors now vanquished still possessed the power to kill.

Seward was present when Jonathan arrived, along with a full staff and a few additional aids. "Early spring always brings out the lunacy in people," Seward said by way of apology, as he showed Jonathan into his cluttered and dusty quarters. "What brings you to London so suddenly?"

"I seem to have misplaced my wife," Jonathan replied, tried to smile and failed. He piled the magazines cluttering a parlor chair onto a second stack of them on the floor and sat, breathing deeply, trying to maintain his composure.

It took little prodding for Seward to discover what Jonathan knew, only a bit more to learn everything his friend believed, including his guilt for pus.h.i.+ng Mina away. When Jonathan had finished, Seward poured them each a brandy before returning to his work, leaving Jonathan alone with the books and magazines and his own despair. As Seward went through his work, he found himself thinking far too often about Mrs. Harker, about what she had been through and about-dare he admit it!-what a fool her husband had become.

The message Gance's butler sent traveled by wire from London to Exeter to Purfleet by early evening. It said little, only that there had been an accident, that Mrs. Harker was in need of attention and that Jonathan should come to London immediately.

"To Lord Gance's," Jonathan added bitterly when he'd finished reading it.

"They also write that Mina is ill," Seward noted.

It would be like Jack not to intrude unless invited. Jonathan longed to go alone, yet fear of what might have happened unnerved him. "Yes, I'm certain that's it," Jonathan said. "Please come with me. She may need your help."

Seward said little on the journey. Jonathan thought it just as well. He did not want to be pulled from his memory of the past, when he and Mina were just young, just poor, just foolishly in love. By the time he reached Gance's estate, he was ready to forgive her everything, and try to reclaim that innocent past.

Then he saw Gance's house-the high iron walls, the huge pillared portico, the entrance with its inlaid tiles of rosewood and mother-of-pearl and the electric sconces blazing in the hallway. He only glimpsed the fantasy parlor, the dining room easily capable of seating twenty or more. The wealth did not make him feel insignificant, for Gance had not earned it. Instead it diminished Mina in his eyes, as if she had succ.u.mbed to the trappings of the man rather than his worth. That made the most sense. In the years Jonathan had known Gance, he had never seen any hint of real substance. Midway up the stairs, he heard the pounding coming from somewhere above them, Mina's demands to be released. Jonathan turned toward Seward, but his friend had already been alerted. "How long has she been like this?" Seward asked the butler.

"Since this afternoon. A man attacked Mrs. Harker and Lord Gance in the garden. She isn't wounded, but she's been overwrought ever since. She demands to go home, but we cannot just let her leave in her state."

At the top of the stairs, the butler led them away from the sounds. "I want to see my wife," Jonathan demanded.

"Lord Gance has asked to speak to you first."

Jonathan halted. "Do I see my wife or I do I go for the police?"

"Lord Gance is very anxious to tell you what happened. He has refused sedation while waiting for you."

"Sedation?" Seward asked.

"Lord Gance was nearly killed by the intruder. He's in a great deal of pain."

"I'll see him," Jonathan said. "After I have a moment with my wife."

"As you wish." As the butler walked down the hallway, he pulled out a ring of keys.

Mina's pounding had stopped for the moment, but it started up again as soon as the key clicked against the lock. As the door swung inward, she rushed for it, apparently intending escape. Jonathan caught her, gripping her wrists as she fought him. "It's all right, darling," he said calmly.

She looked at him, her eyes savage for a moment. Recognition came slowly. It brought an end to her struggles but no real peace, no relief.

"Jonathan? Jonathan, why are you here? Did Gance really send for you?"

She sounded anxious. Guilty. All his worst suspicions were true. How many times had she come here to be with him? More than Millicent knew, he guessed. Far more."They died because of me!" she cried, shaking in his arms. "All the blood, Jonathan. I didn't know there would be so much blood.

All I wanted was to know the truth, and they died."

"Hush, Mina dear. It will be all right. We'll go home."

"They'll find us there. There's more of them, the hunters. Van Helsing is not the worst of them. I thought he was, but not anymore."

"She's hysterical," Seward whispered. "I'll give her a sedative."

"No! No more!" Mina cried. "I cannot bear the dreams!"

"Jack is here to help you, darling," Jonathan said, nodding to Seward as he spoke. "Let him."

"No!" She tried to push them both away, her nails ripping at Jonathan's hands, drawing blood. When she saw it, she stopped her struggles and stared at it, trembling with a new, more terrible fear. She did not protest when Seward gave her the injection, or when Jonathan laid her back on the bed. He held her hand as the trembling diminished; letting her go only when she went to sleep.

Some time later, the butler returned. "Lord Gance must see you now, Mr. Harker," he said to Jonathan.

Resigned to the confrontation, Jonathan followed him down the hall, leaving Seward alone with Mina.

II

While Gance had been lying motionless in the garden following the shooting, he'd heard quite distinctly the physician telling his butler that he was not expected to live. It seemed odd to Gance that a doctor could make such a p.r.o.nouncement when he was still alive, and equally certain that he would remain that way. Gance clenched his fist and tried to mumble a denial. Words would not come.

Nonetheless, his motion must have alerted someone that he was close to consciousness. He felt the cold pressure of the stethoscope against his chest once, then twice more. "The bullet pa.s.sed right through. That's encouraging," the doctor said in a tone clearly meant to placate his patient should he hear the words. "And the wounded lung does not seem to be hemorrhaging. If the chest cavity doesn't become septic, well, your master may have a chance."

A chance for what? That one day, hopefully far in the future, when he was too old for anything but memories, the sentence of death would be spoken and meant? Death comes to us all. How many times in how many churches had he heard those words?

Now he understood. And as he lay there, more helpless than he had been even as a small child, he despised that end.

And he despised the pain as well, a terrible stab of it each time he tried to take a deep breath, to speak, or to moan. Now, when life was so tenuous, he found the thought of Mina's vampires both beautiful and comforting. He clung to it as he was lifted and carried inside, as the doctor cut off his s.h.i.+rt and began to cleanse the wound. Then the pain grew, enfolding him, pressing out what remained of consciousness.

Later, Gance forced his eyes open. The doctor sat alone at his bedside, a book in his lap, the dog stretched on the carpet at his feet.

"How is Mina?" Gance asked.

"The woman was hysterical. She's sleeping now. Her family has been contacted."

Gance nodded. He would have done the same, he supposed.

"I'll give you another shot for the pain," the doctor said. "No." Not yet. He had to stay awake, to think. "I want to be alert when the family arrives. They'll have questions," he said.

Mina, my dear Mina, was the secret in your blood? he thought. Was it carried to me by your bite like rabies even before I tasted your blood? Was I already diseased by it, doomed to eternity?