Mina Part 4

Nothing could be done. As Jonathan watched, I walked forward and knelt beside the brash American, making certain that he saw my unblemished forehead. "Ah," he said and smiled and let out one final breath. The vapor hung in the cold air then dissipated in the frigid wind.

They unloaded the box that had held Dracula, wrapped Quincey in some of the fur rugs and started back to Galati. Arthur decided to book pa.s.sage to America and take Quincey's body home. Van Helsing seemed triumphant at their victory over the vampire. The others only mourned.

As we traveled down the mountain, Van Helsing looked up at the castle, noting the wisps of smoke rising from inside its walls. He glanced at me and I met his gaze steadily. "Let it burn," I said.

He did not question me.

We held the final meeting of our quest after we returned to Galati. Arthur, who had lost his love and one of his closest friends, seemed the most affected by the events, the most sedate as we discussed our future. He had already decided to take Quincey's body back to America. Van Helsing declared his intentions to remain in the area and continue his research on vampires.

"Everything is finished. We've won, haven't we?" Jonathan asked with concern.

Van Helsing knew the truth as well as I, but he replied, "Of course. But there may be more of those creatures. We must be careful." Van Helsing looked directly at me as he continued, "And you must keep silent about what we have done, particularly what happened to Madame Mina."

"I hadn't intended to speak about any of it," Arthur said. "But why shouldn't I?"

"I obtained my knowledge from others who are just as determined as I to end the vampires' curse. Some of them are not so trusting in G.o.d's grace and goodness. Do not draw their interest."Van Helsing had been fanatic enough. I gripped Jonathan's arm and nodded. I was thankful that I had not mentioned to Jonathan the journal I had taken from the castle, for he would certainly make me give it to Van Helsing.

When the others retired for the evening, I stayed behind to speak to Van Helsing in private. I think he waited for me to confess that I had seen the women's bodies. Instead, I spoke as candidly as I dared, dreading his reply. "It isn't really over, is it?" I asked.

He took my hands, his own shaking slightly with fatigue or age or emotion. "I know much, Madame Mina. I know not everything.

Here I will hope to learn more. Go home. Be wife to your husband, the strength he needs. I will write, hopefully to say that all is as well as I believe it to be."

He kissed my cheek and held me tightly. "Daughter," he whispered as he let me go. I saw that the word had not been said lightly, for there were tears in his eyes.

PART TWO: MINA

FIVE

On the train ride west, Mina finally gave way to the exhaustion of the long ordeal and slept late the following morning. At breakfast time, Jonathan knocked lightly on the door to Dr. Seward's compartment and received no reply. Thankful for the time alone, he dined quickly then retreated to the smoking car. The crystal chandeliers tinkled lightly from the swaying of the train, reminding him uncomfortably of the laughter of the vampire women. He ordered a double brandy neat and stared into the gla.s.s, thinking how luminous their skin had been, how glowing their eyes.

Now they were dead and he was alive and everything could be the way it had been. Except ...

He explored his despondence, finally focusing on the truth of what he had done.

He was a solicitor. The others had been interested in revenge and adventure and, particularly in the case of Van Helsing, a rigid form of righteousness. Jonathan had joined them because he had no choice. With Mina's soul hanging in the balance, he should have reveled in the act.

Instead he had suffered the quest with stoic misery, fighting his terror every step of the way. Even when he and Quincey were in hot pursuit of the cart carrying Dracula's helpless body home, Jonathan had decided there was something to be said for being a poor rider. He would not be the one to reach the cart first. Then he had been caught up in the final heroic moments and, determined to insure that his wife would not turn into one of those terrible and alluring creatures he had faced in the castle, he had gripped the cold hilt of the huge kukri blade he carried and spurred his horse onward. He hardly recalled the final moments of the ride, or how he had jumped from his horse to the cart. He recalled only that he had killed.

Try as he might to rationalize that Dracula had died centuries before, he knew he had killed.

In spite of the crimes of his victim and all Jonathan's certainty that there was no other outcome possible, this did not set well with his conscience.

And why were the vampire women still on his mind? Why had he, only an hour before, looked down at his sleeping wife with her slightly open lips, her tiny hands and delicate arms resting so beautifully on the brown wool blanket, her tousled chestnut hair, and wished that her brows were darker, her hair thicker, her lips more red.

Mina. If these were his thoughts, what must hers be? The final question numbed him. He ordered a second brandy then, without any real plan in mind, purchased the rest of the bottle and carried it back to the compartment he was now able to share with his wife. He found her awake, sitting at her dressing table with her traveling cape covering her nightdress.

She had been writing something in a thin journal. When she saw him, she closed the book without letting the ink dry and placed it in her pocket. "You're still taking notes, I see," he said uneasily.

"Just a few thoughts. So much has happened." She hesitated then added, "Poor Quincey."

She faced the mirror and began pinning up her hair. "Let it lie free," he said.

She turned from the little mirror on the door of their tiny closet. Her brow was furrowed, her expression puzzled. "Jonathan?" she asked.

He poured her a drink and held it out to her. "I know it's early in the day," he said. "But we've been through so much, I thought you might like to join me in a toast."

"A toast?"

"To Quincey, who was such a brave man and. . ." He had to say it, as close to a confession of his thoughts as he dared go." . . .

to Dracula, who was once a great general, a protector of his people. May his soul now rest in peace."

Why did Mina seem so suddenly remote?

"Do you think it's wrong to raise a gla.s.s to him?" he asked.

"No. I think it's admirable." She lifted the gla.s.s and touched it against his, sipping her brandy then setting the rest on the bedstand.

"Even after what happened to Quincey?"

"Forgiveness is always . . ." She hesitated and looked at him. She had always been perceptive, but now the talent seemed heightened, as if something of Dracula's mental power remained in her. She seemed to forget what she was going to say and looked down at her hands, clearly fl.u.s.tered.

The silence became long and awkward. "How do you feel?" he finally asked.

"Like myself. The sleep did me good. And I suspect dinner will taste marvelous."

"Dinner is not for another hour at least." He sat beside her, aware of the warmth of her body even through his coat and s.h.i.+rt. He took her hands in one of his-so soft they were, so warm!-and with the other turned her head toward him and lifted her chin for a kiss.

What was intended to be a light kiss between husband and wife became something more. He ground his lips against her, forcing her mouth open. He felt her indrawn breath-surprise, then an even more surprising response. Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him close.

Yes, she was perceptive. She knew what he wanted and was willing to give even that. Stunned by what he demanded, humbled by his love for her, he drew back and saw the tears in her eyes.

"Mina, I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I love you, Jonathan." She spoke as if he felt some doubt.

He recalled with sudden clarity a moment ten days before when he and Quincey were alone together in a compartment such as this. The two of them had earlier come upon Van Helsing and Seward whispering together in the smoking car. The subject apparently changed when he and the American joined them; the conversation remained awkward until he and Quincey left to return to the compartment they shared with Arthur. At the door, Jonathan had turned back and seen the two speaking once more, their heads close, the voices low, "How can you tolerate the way those two are always watching Mina," Quincey had said when they were alone. "They act like she's dying when it's clear she is better than she's been in weeks. You should be with her, not cooped up in here sleeping triple with Arthur and me."

"Van Helsing doesn't think that wise," Jonathan had replied carefully, not certain how to respond to Quincey's American directness.

"You've been married for what, six weeks ... Well, I'm sorry. I guess I just don't see things with quite the same reserve as the English." Quincey hardly sounded apologetic.

Jonathan had waited until Quincey was asleep before slipping out of the compartment and going to Mina. He had stood at the foot of her bed, staring at his wife, so innocent save for the terrible scar on her forehead that was visible even in the moonlight s.h.i.+ning through the window. Though she had been sound asleep when he arrived, she seemed to sense his presence and held out her arms to him. He kissed her once, chastely, but she pulled him closer to her, responding with a pa.s.sion he had never felt in her before.

"Mina," he whispered, stroking back the locks of hair that had fallen over her forehead.

"Promise me that they will not be harmed," she whispered. "I will do anything if you only promise me."

"Of course," he replied and moved away from her, guessing what presence she thought was in her room, the bargain she would strike with the vampire to save his life. He retreated before he gave in to the petulant temptation of waking her and telling her what she had promised.

Now he found himself wis.h.i.+ng that she would display that pa.s.sion to him. It was unreasonable to be jealous of a vampire, a creature who could force Mina to respond to him, yet Jonathan was. How could he be so cruel, so blind! He reached out and gently wiped the tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry, darling," he said. "It was callous of me to come to you so soon."

She was about to say something, but he could not bear to hear her justify his action. "I'll come for you when dinner is announced,"

he said and left quickly.

The train had stopped to take on water. Through a window that had been cracked for air, he heard it flowing into the tank car, felt the vibration its rus.h.i.+ng caused. He paused to listen, to think of what he could do for Mina, but she would not remain in the center of his mind.

What were the women's names? he wondered. What sort of lives had they led before they became Dracula's terrible brides?

Dr. Seward opened his compartment door. "There you are! Care to join me for drink and a cigar?" he asked.

"Just a moment. I bought a bottle," Jonathan replied and went back into his own compartment to retrieve it. Mina stood looking out at the town. "Craiova, isn't it?" she asked without looking at him.

"I think so."

"When we leave this land and the terrible reminders it gives us both, things will be better," she said as if trying to a.s.sure herself of it.

"Of course." He kissed the back of her neck and fingered a lock of her hair. "I love you," he added. She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her face against his shoulder. "I came back for the bottle. Jack and I are going to have a drink.

Should I have him go on without me?"

She shook her head. "I'll join you in a little while," she said.

As he left, he looked back and saw that she had turned her face toward the window once again. He was certain she was trying to hide her tears.

Why shouldn't she hide them? he thought as he sat in the smoking car with Dr. Seward. Every time she had acted the least bit emotional, feminine as his father had once called it, Van Helsing had responded with concern. The entire trip east had been terrible for Jonathan, evoking all the memories of his weeks in Dracula's castle. How much worse must Mina have felt? Fool! he thought and must have mouthed the word, for Dr. Seward looked up from his paper.

"Are you all right?" Seward asked.

"Just preoccupied." It occurred to him that this might be the most helpful person he could talk with-but only about Mina. His own problem was easy enough to identify. "It's Mina. I'm concerned that what she's been through will have a ... a sort of delayed effect on her."

"Has she given any sign that there's a problem?"

"Just. Well, she was crying today. And yesterday ... she seemed so pa.s.sive. That's not like Mina."

"Don't worry about her. She's been so strong through this ordeal that it's about time she let her emotions out. She's healthy- emotionally as well as physically. She'll recover with no scars, I promise you."

"Of course, she is quite all right now."

Jonathan hadn't asked a question, but Seward sensed his uncertainty. "Van Helsing a.s.sured me that when the vampire died, the scar would vanish from her face, and it did. He said that when the vampire died, his blood in her would die as well. I have no way of checking that last, Jonathan, but I trust Van Helsing. The scar is gone. What other proof do we need?"

Mina's a.s.surance, Jonathan thought. That was what had not been given.

Soon after, the two men and Mina sat together in the dining car. White linen covered the table. Broad-based crystal goblets and silver utensils circled the plates. Though they had eaten here three times already, this was the first time Jonathan had noticed the luxury and how right his wife looked sitting in the midst of it. The cameo she wore on her high-necked blouse was the same color of peach as her cheeks, and her hair, falling in ringlets over her velvet jacket, shone brilliantly in the afternoon sun.

The weeks since their marriage had been filled with tragedy. All that would have to change. Hadn't he inherited a fortune from his employer, a house in Exeter, a position as head of a firm well established in London business? When the steward came past, he asked for wine and raised his gla.s.s in another toast. "To the future," he said.

Mina smiled. It was so good to see her smile, if only for a moment. Then the remote expression returned to her face, like a dark curtain falling between them, cutting off their view of each other.That night, he lay beside her, holding her lightly in his arms as they planned to move her belongings to Exeter. They talked for an hour, but when he rolled her sideways and began to stroke the side of her face, he felt her stiffen. "Mina, it's over," he said.

"I don't feel the same as I did before he came to me," she confessed, shuddering as if the revelation gave her pain. Neither do I, Jonathan thought. Everything might have been different had he only said the words aloud, but he could not. The admission would have wounded her too terribly. "We'll give it time," he said.

SIX

I

Just after he and Mina left England, Jonathan's aunt Millicent Harker-maiden aunt, as she was fond of calling herself-had moved into the house Jonathan had inherited in Exeter.

"The mysterious honeymoon", as she referred to their journey, had taken place so suddenly that Jonathan's last, indeed only, request before leaving was that Millicent travel from Reading to Exeter and take up residence there. Otherwise, he wrote, he would be leaving the house and belongings in the care of servants who might have been loyal to Mr. Hawkins but had no reason to be the same to him. There had been no time to catalog the possessions, and while he would not refuse a servant some cherished memento of his former employer, he made it clear to Millicent that he had no desire to allow a dishonest few to steal him blind.

Certain that a surprise a.s.sault was in order, Millicent did not post Jonathan's letter authorizing her to act in his behalf. Instead, she arrived unannounced at the s.p.a.cious Tudor-style home near the cathedral. Having dismissed the hired cab with a two-penny tip, she knocked on the front door with all the force of someone bearing a proclamation from the Queen herself.

James Chapel, Mr. Hawkins's personal servant for the last sixteen years, opened the front door. In his early sixties with a sizable inheritance from Mr. Hawkins, he could have moved in with his daughter in Cornwall. However, he was a trim man whose hair was still a rich brown. He looked and felt a decade younger than his actual age and was hardly ready to retire. Jonathan Harker had suggested that he live in the house until they returned from their trip on the Continent. Chapel had done so in the hope of reaching some arrangement with the Harkers. He had met Jonathan and Mina a number of times before his employer's death. In the few days the couple had spent there, he had helped Madam Mina adjust to managing a household staff. Both of them, particularly the wife, were charming, una.s.suming people. He suspected that they would get along well.

Millicent, with a drab olive-green cloak covering her stout body and the black hat perched on her dull gray hair, was a different story. She waved her nephew's authorization in Chapel's face and pointed to her bags. Chapel looked from the parcels to the woman. She was short, with the look of one prematurely old, her round face permanently lined and tanned by sun and wind. "You weren't expected so soon. If you had wired, we would have had porters meet you at the train," he said.

Millicent snorted as if he had suggested something unseemly. "Perhaps another servant can help," she said sharply.

"I am the only one here, madam. A maid was hardly needed in the Harkers' absence, so I thought to save them the expense."

"Well then . . ." She hoisted the largest two parcels and swept past Chapel into the foyer. "Show me to my room, please."

"The guest room? There are three on the second floor and another plus sitting room on the third. If you will leave your bags here, I can show the rooms to you." As he spoke the last, he moved past her and out the door, hesitating just outside to debate whether to get the rest of her things or such a deliciously wicked thought!-simply leave her to fend for herself.