Mina (11 page)

and went into the hall. At
the top of the stairs, she halted.

The house
was dark except for the light spilling into the foyer through the open parlor
door. She smelled the smoke from

Jonathan's cigar, heard
Millicent speak her name.

She sighed
when she heard the woman's voice. Did Millicent ever smile? Ever laugh even
when she was young? Mina doubted it.

No, to her Millicent was one of those women who saw life as a
trial, her virtue constantly at risk. The heaven Millicent hoped to achieve
with this behavior would hardly be any better.

Before her journey with the men, Mina had not been one to
eavesdrop, but now she was less certain of herself, less willing to trust that
people who cared for her intended the best for her. She descended halfway down
the stairs and, in the shadows of the landing, sat listening to their
conversation.

" . . . few weeks Chapel has
taught me so much," Millicent was saying. "And you know how easily I
manage things. If Mina is still ill, I could rent out my cottage the way I do
my lands and stay on as cook. In the beginning, I could also handle Mina's
duties so she can rest and recover. Jonathan, I'm worried about her. She
hardly ate and drank nothing but the sherry. She seems so pale and fragile,
like an empty glass."

The woman
had no way of knowing how appropriate the metaphor was, Mina thought, as she
listened to Jonathan mumble some

agreement.

"I'd like to help you ... both
of you in any way I can." Mina clasped her hands together and closed her
eyes. "Say no, darling," she whispered. "Please say no."
Even as she spoke the words, she knew the truth. The woman had raised Jonathan.
He could never turn her away.

"She is
still weak. Yes, I suppose, if Mina agrees."

And what
could she do but agree? Mina thought. Millicent would see through every excuse
she would give for managing the

household on her own. Mina would never be forgiven if she demanded
that the woman be asked to leave. Millicent was, in her own devious way, far
more deadly than Dracula had ever been, because Jonathan loved her.

"And
there is the matter of the sherry, Jonathan," Millicent said sternly.
"You cannot just talk to her. You must be firm with her.

Promise me."

Mina did not
need to hear her husband's reply to know what it had been. Feeling suddenly
chilled, she pulled the blanket more

tightly around her shoulders
and moved slowly up the stairs, her bare feet making no sound on the thick
green carpet.

She had just
reached the door to her room when she noticed a growing light on the servants'
stairs at the opposite end of the hall.

A moment later, Laura, in a
white nightdress, reached the second-floor landing. Mina was lit by the
gaslight coming from her room,

Laura by the oil lamp she
held. Each stared silently at the other.

Laura took a
step toward Mina. Mina, alarmed, put a finger to her lips, motioned the girl
away and retreated to her room.

She had just returned to the warmth
of the bed when Jonathan joined her. He undressed quickly and put on a
nightshirt, then slipped into bed beside her. She pressed her back close to
his chest. The warmth of his body felt delicious, his arms so comforting as he
held her. "Were you sleeping?" he asked.

"Off
and on." She took one of his hands and kissed it. "I was waiting for
you."

She heard
him murmur something in a voice too low to be heard. His hand moved to her
breast. She rolled over and faced him,

willing
herself to be passive, to let him take his pleasure while thoughts of the
vampire and the passion he had aroused in her coursed through her, potent as
blood. "Jonathan," she whispered and, just for a moment, yielded to
the pleasure. Her body tightened. She kissed his chest, pulled his head down
to find his lips.

But it was
already over as suddenly as it had begun, with no fulfillment for her save in
her memories.

She could
sleep now that Jonathan was with her, his warmth and presence comforting her.
For the first time in days, she did not

dream. A new set of problems
had replaced the old. The present dispersed the past.

Mina woke
with Jonathan the next morning, to see him off on his first day at work as head
of the firm. She sat across from him at

the small table in the parlor, drinking tea and eating biscuits
Millicent had baked for them the night before. She tried to think of something
encouraging to say, but every attempt only seemed to make him more insecure.

Following a long silence, he
mentioned Millicent's concern about the sherry. "I couldn't tell her why
you needed it and I promised her that I would speak to you. Try to sleep
without it and, when you can't, put a bottle in the cabinet here so she doesn't
see you drinking it."

"Jonathan,
you make it sound as if a glass of sherry is a sickness. Besides, what business
is it of hers?"

"My
mother ... was very cruel to Aunt Millicent, especially when she drank too
much. Millicent tolerated her tirades, most likely

because she would not have
been allowed to care for me otherwise. Please, don't drink in front of Aunt Millicent
any longer."

He paused to
look at her face, her lips pressed together, her eyes soft with sorrow. "I
don't like to speak of what she and I

endured," he said,
pulled her to her feet and hugged her tightly. "We'll banish the past
together, I promise you."

Winston Gordon, Lord Gance, liked to
compare himself to Lord Byron, the distant uncle who shared his surname. Both
were poets, he was fond of asserting publicly, though only his close friends
were allowed to read his creations and they made little comment on his skill.
His intimate friends were more likely to agree that both were libertines. The
similarity ended there. While the poet had been short and somewhat fat, with a
sanguine complexion caused by a blend of heredity and drink, Gance was tall
and exceedingly pale, with eyes of such a pale gray that they often looked
colorless in bright light. In spite of an appetite for food to rival that for
sex, he was also slender to the point of emaciation. Only his profile, with its
classic nose and thin, delicately curled white-blond hair above the receding
hairline, and his direct, often insolent, stare, showed the blood tie between
the men born nearly a century apart.

In spite of his heritage, Gance was
a businessman, not a romantic, and revolutions held little interest for him.
Indeed, he was quite committed to the empire, for India, along with sundry
investments on the Continent, had made him wealthy beyond the dreams of his
ancestors.

His father had been the first noble
to employ the legal services of Peter Hawkins, noting to young Winston that
Hawkins had more honesty and skill than the advisors to the Queen. In the
years that followed, Hawkins had proven his worth, and Lord Gance saw no
reason to abandon a successor who seemed nothing more than a younger duplicate
of the scrupulously honest Hawkins himself.

Gance had arrived at Harker's office
to sign some papers for the purchase of a winter estate in southern France when
he passed a young woman coming out of the offices. Though he was certain he
had never met her, she seemed startled, almost fearful, when she saw him. She
stared at his face a moment too long then modestly looked away. She was pretty,
but there was little remarkable about her except her magnificent chestnut
hair, which she had tied back somewhat hurriedly it seemed, and her complexion,
which was pale enough to rival his own. Then she glanced at him again. Her
eyes, he decided, were incredibly beautiful, and her expression managed to be
both frank and sad. He was certain some terrible business had brought her here.
"I just passed a woman going out," he commented to Harker's clerk.
"What is her name?"

"Mrs.
Harker, sir, Wilhelmina. She and Mr. Harker were married on the Continent only
a few months ago," the clerk replied, the

evenness of his expression
hiding his distaste. Gance's excesses were well known to anyone who listened to
gossip.

"And is Mr. Harker free?" "He will be in a moment,
sir."

Gance took
the time to sit and consider everything he knew about the Harkers. After his
business was complete with Jonathan,

he asked how Jonathan liked
Mr. Hawkins's house.

"It's
beautiful, particularly the view of the cathedral and its grounds."

"We share an appreciation of
that. My own estate is just to the north of your home. Since we're neighbors,
I'd like to invite you and your bride to a holiday dinner I'm giving on the
fourteenth." Harker knew him well enough that Gance expected him to
attempt to decline. Before he could, Gance added, "It will be a formal
affair. A number of your other clients will be attending along with some of
our neighbors. I think it would be wise for you both to attend."

"Thank
you. We ... will do our best. My wife and I recently returned from a trip to
Austria. Since her return, she has not been

well."

"All the more reason to buy her
a new gown and give her a chance to get out. I'll count on you both."
Gance smiled, genuinely it seemed, and left before Harker could refuse. Harker
could, of course, refuse later, but Gance doubted that he would do so. On the walk
home, Gance noticed Mrs. Harker going into a dressmaker's shop and stopped to
watch her through the window. She moved

confidently among the satin and laces, viewed with interest the
woman's sketches. Mina Harker knew fashion. She knew what she liked. He
decided that she was beautiful. If she had been single, or married longer, he
would have managed to meet her now.

Instead, he waited until she had left the shop then went inside.
He'd done business with the owner a few times, and she had always done perfect
work. Now he drew her aside from her other customers and explained that heirs
had just moved into the Hawkins' house. "I've invited the Harkers to my
house for dinner next Saturday. The chestnut-haired woman in the green skirt
who just left here is Mrs. Harker. She will need a gown, I think. I suggest
that you contact her."

"And
how can I be of service to you, sir?" the seamstress asked.

"By
making her look as lovely as possible for her husband's sake. I suggest that
you make her a gown of this fabric." He pointed

to the bolt of green velvet,
with a color so deep it appeared nearly black.

The woman
knew him well enough to understand. "I will try to convince her," she
said. "With her coloring, I'm certain she'd look

stunning in it."

Gance tipped
her well and went on his way, happy in the thought that he would see Mrs.
Harker again and soon.

We have been at home
nearly two weeks, and I think fondly of the snow that fell in the mountains of
Transylvania, of the

deep blue skies and marvelous sunsets,
Mina wrote
in her journal the following night.
It is odd to think of that place as beautiful
when such tragedy happened there, and yet, after weeks of fog and chilly rain,
I would do anything to see the sun. I ordered Laura to clean the parlor and
dining room windows and to rehang the velvet draperies to let in more light. Though
Millicent complained that the draperies look strange pulled back so far, it is
now possible to read a newspaper in the afternoon without use of the gaslight.
I mentioned the savings to Millicent, who only looked at me oddly, as if
guessing that she was being placated and not certain how.

As I expected, Jonathan
is working a great many extra hours. Having the position as head of the firm
fall on his

shoulders so suddenly with Mr. Hawkins's death has placed a
terrible burden on his conscience. He is terrified of not living up to the
firm's reputation, or of making some mistake that will remove all the good
fortune that came to us. I tell him that Mr. Hawkins had faith in him for a
reason, but it does little good. I wish I could help him, but I know so little
about his work that he will not allow it, nor does he have the time to teach
me.

She
hesitated, then continued on in shorthand.

In
spite of her apparent kindness, I find it impossible to be at all comfortable
in Millicent's presence. All her affection is centered on Jonathan. With our
age and temperament so different, we have nothing in common at all.
Nonetheless, she is the only family Jonathan has left, and I will learn to
accept her for his .sake.

I have begun to meet
some of our neighbors as a result of an invitation to a client's dinner party-a
relation to Lord

Byron, imagine! It is a formal affair, and Jonathan asked that I
have a gown made. I knew no one, but a seamstress whose shop I'd visited had a
card delivered to me. I stopped by this afternoon and had a fitting. While I
was there, a number of local women came in to place orders or pick up dresses.
I spoke to a few of them, and one of them, Winnie Beason, invited me for tea
tomorrow afternoon. Mrs. Beason is somewhat older than I, and though her hair
is darker than Lucy's, her skin that magnificent shade Jonathan calls Cornish
ivory, she reminds me of Lucy. They share that same happy interest in life and
an independence that has no respect for petty conventions.

At the dress designer's suggestion, I picked a
French design for my gown. It has a sea-green satin blouse and sleeves and a
deep green velvet layered skirt, cuffs and collar. She wanted to make a
matching evening cape, but I thought the price too extravagant, especially
since Jonathan asked me to order three additional gowns, one more formal and
two for afternoon wear. I chose cream
_.
for the formal, pale blue
and white for the others. The white is probably too thin for winter

wear, but even with the holiday season and the dinner we are
giving for Jonathan's staff, I cannot imagine the need for four new gowns in
the next few months. I told this to Millicent, certain that she would agree,
and she said that socializing was one of my duties-as if a party were some
sort of chore to be endured! I think sometimes that she must have had a sad and
lonely childhood and wish we could he better friends.

When I
went into town yesterday, Jonathan took me to lunch and we laughed with as much
joy as we had when he courted me. Last night, I waited eagerly for him to come
home, but at dinner, he was as solemn as always. It is what Millicent expects
from the little boy she still thinks him to be, and it is what he gives her. I
would give anything to hear him