Читать книгу Dracula: The Un-Dead - Ian Holt, Dacre Stoker - Страница 14

Mina Harker stood on the small balcony and looked out into the night, longing for something, but for what, she couldn’t say. She shivered at the sound of the chimes ringing from the nearby cathedral, though she was not cold. Above the cathedral, what looked like an unnatural crimson fog was descending from the clouds, as if the sky itself were bleeding. The fog moved swiftly toward her, against the wind. Her eyes widened as she stepped back into her husband’s study and closed the shutter doors. In a wave of panic, she dashed from window to window, slamming them shut. Mere moments later, an angry wind pounded the glass so forcefully that Mina backed away for fear it would shatter.

The howling wind grew louder and louder. Then, in an instant, there was nothing, only a deafening silence. Mina strained to listen for any sound, any movement. Daring at last to peer through the shutters, she saw that the house was enveloped. She couldn’t see an inch past the window.

A loud, hollow knock upon the front door echoed to the high rafters of the foyer and Mina jumped violently. Another knock came, and then another. The pounding grew louder, more forceful.

She did not move. She could not move. She wanted to run, but found herself frozen by the dark fear that it could be him, returned. She knew it was impossible. He was dead. They had all watched him die. There came the sound of glass breaking from the floor below. Mina could hear the front doors swing open and the sound of something being dragged along the marble floor. Jonathan had gone out, as usual. Manning, the butler, had been dismissed for the evening. But now someone else—or something—was in the house with her. Mina backed into a corner, cowering in fear. She was angry with herself for being so weak; she would not be a prisoner in her own home, to anyone or anything, least of all to herself. Her previous experiences with the supernatural had taught her that shrinking away like a frightened schoolgirl would not force evil to recede. Confronting it head-on was the only way to combat the darkness.

She snatched a ceremonial Japanese sword from the wall, a gift from one of Jonathan’s clients. Ironically, she had always despised the prominent place Jonathan had given it in the room. Nearing the top of the grand staircase, Mina knelt to peer through the banister’s ornate iron rails. The front door was wide open. A meandering trail of smeared blood stained the floor from the threshold, across the foyer, and into the drawing room. The frightful thought that Jonathan had returned home and was somehow injured banished all her fears, and she raced down the stairs and into the drawing room. Following the bloody path to a corner, she found a man huddled beneath the portrait that hid the family wall safe. A bolt of lightning ripped through the sky, illuminating the study. She gasped, shocked at the ghastly appearance of a man she knew.

“Jack?”

Not only was Jack Seward covered from head to foot in blood, but he looked so frail and ill, vastly different from the robust man she had once known. He looked up at her, opened his mouth, and tried to speak. Blood gurgled out instead of words. Dropping the sword, she knelt beside him. “Jack, don’t try to speak. I’ll fetch a physician.”

As she rose, Seward grabbed her arm. He shook his head vigorously. He pointed to the floor, where he had written with his own blood: “B-E-W-A-R.”

“Beware?” Mina implored. “Beware of what…of whom?”

Seward screamed, but it was abruptly silenced. He fell back, his face frozen in horror.

Jack Seward was dead.

Her own screams woke Mina from the nightmare.

She was safe in her own chambers, in her own bed, tangled in her sheets. In those few disorienting seconds between the dream state and reality, Mina was certain that she saw the crimson fog seep out of her bedroom window and into the night. Although she was sure that she felt a presence in her room, she dismissed it as the last dissipating fragment of her vision. She sighed and dropped back into her pillow, watching the curtains billowing in the wind.

She had shut the window before retiring to bed. She vividly remembered fastening the lock.

The cathedral bells rang, and Mina glanced at the clock resting on the mantelpiece. It was a quarter past twelve.

She ran to the window and reached to grab the latch handle. She froze. The crimson red fog was in her front courtyard, slithering around the hedges and trees as it retreated from the house.

After drawing the curtains, Mina raced down the hall to Jonathan’s bedroom to find comfort in her husband’s arms but was disheartened to find his room empty. The bedsheets had not even been turned back. He had not yet come home.

“Damn him,” Mina cursed. He was supposed to have been on the 6:31 train from Paddington, arriving at St. David’s station by 10:05. She looked back into the night, wondering if she should ring up Mark at the Half Moon down the lane to see if Jonathan had stumbled in from the station. Then she remembered the embarrassing incident from the last time when Jonathan had traded blows with a fellow drunkard over the favors of an aged consumptive whore. Mina had been forced to endure the shame of traveling into town to bail her husband out of the police station’s cells.

Despite that dreadful incident, she still wished Jonathan were here. He was rarely home of late. Now that her son, Quincey, was away at the Sorbonne, Mina often found herself alone in this grand, empty house. Tonight her loneliness was poignant and the house was like a tomb.

She gazed at the row of framed photographs on the mantelpiece. What had happened to all those people? Some were deceased, but most had simply drifted away. How did my whole life crash on the rocks? Mina’s eye fell upon one of her favorite photographs, and she picked it up, a portrait of Lucy and herself, taken before the darkness came into their lives. Before she made her fateful choice. The naïveté of youthful innocence in those smiles comforted her. She could still clearly remember that beautiful August day in 1885 when she had first met the love of her life, Jonathan Harker, at the Exeter Summer Fair.

Lucy had looked radiant in her new Parisian garden dress. She had waited for months to show it off. Mina was fortunate enough to fit into the dress that Lucy had worn two summers before, though she found it stifling. She did not quite have Lucy’s eighteen-inch waist, and the corset made her feel as if her breasts were being pressed up to her chin. The revealing décolleté was much more Lucy’s style. Though it made Mina feel uncomfortable, she couldn’t help but enjoy the looks it was attracting from the young men as they passed by.

Lucy was trying to introduce Mina to some guests from London, most notably Arthur Fraser Walter, whose family had owned and operated the Times newspaper for the past century. As they were searching for the Walter family, Lucy had suddenly found herself swarmed upon by a bevy of dashing young suitors asking to be included on her dance card for the evening ball. With her silvery giggle and a false sincerity, Lucy certainly knew how to play the part well. If they only knew her the way Mina knew her. Mina believed God had marked Lucy with red flaming hair as a beacon warning men to beware of her insatiable nature. “Our society will perish if we do not make the necessary social improvements quickly,” said a male voice nearby. She turned to see a young man with a mop of disheveled black hair, dressed in a rumpled woolen suit, shaking a handful of loose pages in front of Lord Henry Stafford Northcote. The staunch lord, Exeter’s Member of Parliament to the House of Commons, seemed to be as wary of the energetic young man as he would a growling dog.

“Workhouses are not the answer,” the young man continued. “Many destitute children live by stealing, or worse. Something has to be done about the education system to preserve both morality and law and order.”

“Mr. Harker,” Lord Northcote sniffed, “the Education Act has made it compulsory for children between the ages of five and thirteen to attend school.”

“But it costs nine pence per week per child. Many families cannot afford such a sum.”

“There are means for the children to earn money.”

“Yes, by working in a factory, which is basically indentured slavery for eighteen-hour days, leaving precious little time for school or studies. Is it any wonder that our impoverished youth turn to thievery or prostitution?” Lord Northcote raised a shocked eyebrow at Harker, who pressed on: “They are not as fortunate as you, who have been born into wealth, and you would have them sell themselves to afford what was handed to you by God.”

“How dare you!”

“Mr. Harker is obviously a man of passion,” Mina interrupted. She squeezed young Harker’s arm to ensure he didn’t speak out of turn. “What I’m certain Mr. Harker meant to say was: Imagine if you had been unable to read or write. You would never have attended Oxford, never have been assigned to the Foreign Office, and could never have held your elected position. A free education for our children would be a great investment in the future, giving them all a chance to improve themselves and the world around them. Every parent wishes the best for his children; it is through them that we achieve immortality. Would you not agree, your lordship?”

“How could I disagree with such wisdom?” Lord Northcote said, chuckling. “But really, Miss Murray, a woman as attractive as yourself is wasting her time by filling her mind with such a weighty matter. You would do better following the fine example set by your friend Miss Westenra, and spend your time searching for a decent husband.”

Without allowing young Harker a chance to say another word, Lord Northcote offered his elbow to his demure wife and the two drifted into the crowd. Harker turned to Mina with a look of bemused awe.

“I thank you for trying. I couldn’t have said it any better myself, but these fools refuse to see the right of it. I was trying to impress upon Lord Northcote the imperative to introduce legislation in the House of Lords to follow the example that the United States of America began in 1839 with a free common education. If we fail in this challenge, our society will be left behind. We will not be able to compete in this new industrial age of scientific discovery. Mark my words.”

Mina smiled. “With your knowledge of the law, I would wager that you are either an aspiring politician or a solicitor?”

“Actually, I’m merely a clerk at Mr. Peter Hawkins’s firm. I’ve been trying to impress one of the associates, Mr. Renfield, to take the case of two thirteen-year-old girls arrested for prostitution. Pro bono, of course. Unless I can make it a bigger case, more newsworthy, perhaps backed by new legislation, I doubt I shall have much luck. And two more young souls will be lost.”

Mina was impressed by this young man’s passion. She remembered an old Jewish proverb that she had always held dear, even though she could not recall where she had come across it: He who saves one soul, saves the world entire. And here was a man trying to save two.

“Have you read the work of William Murray in the Daily Telegraph? He seems to think as you do. He could be a valuable ally in your cause.”

“Miss Murray! Is it possible that you are related to William Murray? I have been trying to reach him for some weeks now, but no one seems to know him. Any time I have stopped by his office, he is never at his copy desk. He is a bit of a mystery man. If I could meet him, I would be only too glad to shake his hand in thanks for bringing these social issues to the printed page.”

Mina extended her hand. Harker’s confused look slowly transformed into a surprised smile. “You’re William Murray?”

“Wilhelmina Murray. But my friends call me Mina.”

“Jonathan Harker.” He took Mina’s gloved hand and pumped it like a man’s, forgetting his manners in his astonishment. “It is certainly a pleasure to meet you, Miss Murray.”

“Please, call me Mina.”

He looked into her eyes, and the look of respect she found there made Mina believe that this was a man she could easily love. Years later, Jonathan told Mina that had been the moment he had fallen in love with her.

“Do you dance, Mr. Harker?”

“No,” Jonathan said quickly, “I’m afraid that I’m not much of a dancer.”

He’s shy, Mina thought. “Good. I would much rather talk about saving two young girls from the horrors of the street. Would you care to join me for a cup of tea?”

“I would be delighted.”

Most men would have refused Mina’s bold offer. Jonathan’s eagerness to join her had made her love him even more.

Mina was unable to fall back to sleep after her macabre vision of Jack Seward. She pulled on a matronly floor-length woolen dress and went to the sitting room to take an early breakfast.

The servants returned at sunrise and brought her a pot of tea. She stared at her reflection in the silver service tray. Bags of sleeplessness would not even form under her restless eyes. A philosopher Mina had once read, though she could not recall his name, said, “The shadows man casts in the morning return to haunt him in the evening.” For Mina, the past seemed to shroud her life in eternal darkness. At soirées in recent years, Mina had heard countless remarks that she must possess a portrait of herself that was aging in the attic, just like Dorian Gray in Mr. Wilde’s risqué story published in Lippincott’s Magazine. To poor Jonathan, it was no laughing matter but rather a constant reminder of her betrayal. She could see how he loathed looking at her now, though she tried to please him by dressing more maturely than she appeared. Even in the most spinsterish of clothing, her youthful appearance glowed through. Jonathan was now fifty years of age but looked ten years older. She understood how he suffered and why he drank. She could never know the true extent of the horror he’d sustained while imprisoned in that castle all those years ago. On occasion, she had heard him cry out in his sleep, but he would not share his nightmares. Could it be that he still did not trust her?

Jonathan avoided being home with her whenever possible, but this absence was worse than usual. Never had he been away for so many days without leaving word of where he had gone.

Manning placed the morning editions of the Daily Telegraph and the Times before her, and she settled in to read. She was thankfully distracted from her horrific night as she read the headline news of a French aviator named Henri Salmet who had set a new world record by flying nonstop from London to Paris in just under three hours. Mina marveled at man’s boundless ingenuity, and wondered how long it would be before a woman’s accomplishments adorned the front page of any newspaper.

At a quarter past ten, Jonathan stumbled into the room, unshaven, nursing a hangover, and dressed in a gray tweed suit that was as wrinkled as his brow. With a great moan he collapsed into his chair.

“Good morning, Jonathan.”

With bloodshot eyes, he tried to focus on his wife. “Good morning, Wilhelmina.” He was as cordial as usual which, in its own way, was more heartbreaking than anger.

Manning returned to the room, unobtrusively placed a fresh pot of tea and a basket of fresh bread on the side table, and shut the door silently behind him. Over the years in which he’d worked for the Harkers, he’d grown accustomed to their troubled marriage, and could sense their subtle stresses.

The sound of the door closing made Jonathan wince. He tried to steady himself on the chair.

“Are you still inebriated?”

Jonathan looked up at Mina as if surprised that she was still there. He reached for the tea. “God, I hope so.”

“Where did you spend these past nights? In an alley? Or with one of your…companions?”

“It was not in an alley, that I can assure you,” he said, pouring unsteadily.

“Why have you become so cruel?”

Jonathan raised his cup as if in a toast. “The world is cruel, my dear. I am merely a reflection of it.”

He was mocking her and the youthful reflection she cast in a mirror.

“Then reflect upon this,” Mina said, gathering her resolve. “Our marriage may not be all we had hoped. We may even sleep in separate bedchambers. But sometimes I do still need you here!”

“You forget, Mrs. Harker, that I needed you once.”

Mina bit her bottom lip. “I had visions again.”

“Dreams of him?” He reached for the Times.

“These are not dreams. They’re different.”

“I believe you want to have these dreams, Mina, that deep inside, you still desire him. You hold for him a passion I could never fulfill.”

Passion! Reeling with rage, Mina straightened her back like a cobra ready to strike. “Now, wait a moment…”

“Why?” he interrupted. “Why must he always come between us, Mina, invading our marriage like a cancer?”

“It is you, Jonathan, not I, who puts him between us. I chose you.”

Jonathan slowly turned and looked at her with such longing that she thought for the first time he had actually listened to her words. “Oh, my dear, dear Mina, still as beautiful and young as the day I first met you. Is that why you still call his name in the night, because you love me so much?”

Mina’s heart sank. “How long will you continue to punish me for my mistakes? I was only a foolish young girl. I could not see the monster behind the mask.”

“What did he do to you? While I grow old, you…” He gestured to her youthful body, shook his head in despair, and gulped his tea.

The passion, the fire, the concern for others had all been drowned in gallons of whisky. The man she looked at now had killed her husband, the love of her life. She detested this wretch before her. There was no resemblance in him to the man she had fallen in love with.

If that was the game he would play, so be it. Locking her emotions behind a bland mask of politeness, Mina sat down and forced her attention back to her newspaper. A small headline in the Daily Telegraph’s society page caught her eye: “former head of whitby asylum dead in paris.”

Horrified, she scanned the first paragraph. “Jack Seward is dead!”

“What are you clamoring on about now?”

“My vision last night. Jack’s death!” Mina cried. She slapped the newspaper onto the table in front of her husband. “This is no coincidence.”

A light appeared in Jonathan’s eyes as he struggled to repress his alcoholic daze. Seeming almost lucid, he said, “God rest his troubled soul.” He bent his head to read the entire article. When he looked up again, an unspoken question hung between them.

Has he returned for revenge?

Jonathan sat for a moment in silence, as if making a decision. Then his shoulders slouched, and his mind fell back into the void. He handed the paper back to Mina. “Run over by a carriage. It says right here it was an accident.” He tapped his finger on the line for emphasis.

Fury ignited Mina. “You’ve withered into a blind, drunken old fool, Jonathan!”

The moment she said it, she regretted it. She was trying to spark him to action. Her severity only wounded this fragile man.

“I envy Jack,” Jonathan whispered, tears welling in his bleary eyes. “His pain is finally at an end.” He rose and headed for the door.

Mina felt the chill again. Her visions were real. Something terrible was in their future. And this time she knew she would have to face it alone.

In a panic, Mina chased Jonathan, catching him outside. “I’m sorry, Jonathan. I love you. I always have. How many more times must I say it?”

Jonathan didn’t look back as he climbed into his car and pulled the goggles over his eyes. “I need to contact Jack’s ex-wife and daughter in New York. As far as I know, I am still executor of his estate, and there are arrangements to be seen to.”

Jonathan depressed the accelerator, let off the brake, and sped off at a roaring ten miles per hour.

Mina watched Jonathan’s motorcar disappear in the direction of the station. The finality of his departure caused tears to sting her eyes. She blinked them away, suddenly seized by the conviction that she was being watched. Someone was hiding in the nearby shrubbery.