Mina (12 page)

laugh so happily in her
presence.

As Mina put the diary in the drawer
of her dressing table, her eyes focused on the bureau, the place where she had
hidden her journal and the book she had taken from Dracula's castle. She
opened the door to her room and listened in the hallway. Jonathan was
downstairs in the study, working a few extra hours before bed. Millicent had
apparently already gone to sleep, for the stairs leading to her room were
dark. Mina shut her door carefully and pulled her journal from its hiding
place. She slipped into bed and, in the light of a single lamp, began to write
hurriedly in shorthand.

I have tried to find a
translator for the book I brought back but so far have had no success. Exeter
is not the

cosmopolitan city that
London is, and I hope that, sometime in the future, I can go to London and find
the help I need.

Jonathan said that Mr. Harker often had to travel there on
business. Perhaps when Jonathan goes, he will take me and I will have a chance
to slip away.

I wish
I could tell him what I have done and why, but I do not dare. Van Helsing's
warnings would make Jonathan uneasy, my doubts even more so. Besides, Jonathan
seems to have put the ordeal behind him. I will not be the one to remind him
of it.

In a way, I thought I
could forget as well. This is the first time I have opened this journal since
our return to Exeter, and

I do so with some
sorrow.

The fainting spell on the boat seems to have
been an isolated incident. I've felt no nausea, no recurring fever to signal a
pregnancy. As a result, I am nearly certain I am not pregnant, though I am
somewhat late. Anxiety can cause that, I have heard, and I've certainly had
reason enough to be anxious in the last few months. Still, a child for Jonathan
and I would be a respite from what looks to be an endless life of leisurely
boredom.. If only I could work as I did before Jonathan and I were married. As
it is, between the solicitious Laura and Jonathan's aunt, there is nothing here
for me to do.

Now Jonathan is working downstairs and I am
alone as always. I find myself longing for those days on the Continent, when
we were so close, so caught up in the horror and adventure of the chase. I feel
restless, anxious. I think of the pledge I made to Dracula in my dreams. I
would follow my - desires, I said. I thought it easy then. It has not been so.

A light
knock on the door startled Mina. She softly closed the book and capped the ink,
placing both in a drawer. "Who is it?"

she called when both were out
of sight.

"Laura."
The girl cracked the door. "I saw your light. I was just going to bed and
thought you might need something."

"Nothing, thank you." Mina blew out the candle and lay
back in the bed thinking of Jonathan working in the study below her. As soon
as she was certain the girl had gone, she placed the book back in its hiding
place and returned to bed, shivering with cold, to wait for Jonathan so she
could sleep in peace. The clock in the foyer chimed the hour then the half, and
still Mina was alone.

Enough! she
thought. Enough. She put on her dressing gown and went downstairs.

The smoke from his cigar drifted
into the hallway. His chair was turned so his back was to her, and he seemed to
be looking for some reference on the bookshelves that covered the wall behind
the desk. She saw a crystal flask full of brandy on his desk, an empty glass
beside it. It looked as if he had had one drink, perhaps two. This was not like
Jonathan. She wondered if he had drunk some in an effort to relax.

The pool of
light and the door that framed her made her feel small, vulnerable. She took a
breath, intending to call his name.

"Damn
it!" he muttered as he pulled a volume from the shelf. He checked the
contents and returned it, then reached for another.

Not so
certain of her welcome, Mina nonetheless called, "Jonathan?"

He turned,
the momentary irritation at her interruption turning to duty, then welcome.
"Mina. I thought you were sleeping."

"I . .
." What? she wondered. I thought you were my lover, my husband. I need you
beside me. "I was lonely. I came to see how

long you would be."

"Lonely?"
He smiled and reached for her hand, but even as she walked toward him, his
focus shifted from her face to the pile of

papers on his desk.

Mina bent
over, and as she kissed his cheek, she whispered, "Don't be too late.
Exhaustion causes its own mistakes."

"He
died," Jonathan said, resting his hand palm down on the papers covering
his desk. "He died," he repeated, and Mina realized

that he was a little bit
drunk. "He left me all that was his, and then he died before he could even
begin to explain what I had . . ."

Mina
recalled clearly the hospital in Budapest where Jonathan had lain raving about
wolves and bats and women with fangs. In

his fever, he had sounded
much like this.

"Jonathan!"
she said sharply, and as he looked at her with dull surprise, she kissed him.
"Jonathan," she repeated more softly. "It

will be all right. I know it.
How can it be otherwise now that we have gone through so much and
survived?"

He did
nothing but hold her hand as he sipped the dark amber liquid. She understood
that he wanted nothing more than for her to

leave.

She would not. Instead she would be
bold for his sake. She poured more brandy into the glass, drank some then
passed it to him, beginning a silent ritual that continued until the glass was
empty. Standing, she pulled him to his feet, not letting go as she led him
through the study with its soft gaslight and up the dark stairs to their room,
where a single candle burned. In the doorway, she paused and turned toward
him. Illuminated from behind, her body was a warm shadow beneath her thin white
nightdress. Thinking only of his need, he followed her as she backed inside.

Her hands reached up and cradled his
chin as, on tiptoe, she kissed him. If his mind had been elsewhere, it was on
her now and remained there as they tumbled onto the bed. Their fall set the
velvet canopy of the bed swaying, its breeze extinguishing the candle, leaving
them alone in the wanton dark.

She kissed him shamelessly, as she
had always longed to kiss him, then-more wickedly!-placed his hands where they
would pleasure her most. It took little brandy to make Jonathan clumsy. Mina
put herself astride him, moving long after he had finished, demanding her own
pleasure.

Mina woke in the center of the bed, the quilts wrapped tightly
around her. She recalled falling asleep in Jonathan's arms, but that had been
hours ago, it seemed. She felt warm and sated and far too tired to wonder where
he had gone. She drifted back to sleep as the clock in the foyer struck one,
slept on through two and three. When Jonathan finally joined her again, she did
not wake, nor did she stir when he left her in the morning. If she dreamed at
all that night, she did not remember.

A half hour before Mina Harker was
to arrive, Winnie Beason pulled the fresh scones from the oven, put out her
cigarette and went upstairs to dress. When she had invited Mina, she'd known
that this was the week her cook went to Hampton to visit her mother. However,
Winnie was not only capable of baking her own sweets, but actually enjoyed it.
Besides, she and Mina would be uninterrupted for most of the afternoon, a much
better means of discovering if her new neighbor was as independent a woman as she
believed.

Strange
rumors had preceded Mrs. Harker to Exeter. Jonathan Harker had been a simple
clerk in the Hawkins firm until

Hawkins had sent him abroad. When he returned, it was with a wife
and, not only an incredible promotion, but a future inheritance as well. Then,
only days later, Hawkins died. No one suspected the Harkers, for Hawkins had
been ill for some time. However, the Harkers' disappearance so soon after the
funeral aroused some curiosity. Winnie was not one to pry, however; Mrs.
Harker's fortune had risen as suddenly as her own. Through that bond she hoped
to have found a friend.

She served
Mina coffee kept warm in a samovar, heated with a candle at the base, and
offered her a cigarette, which Mina

refused. The initial reserve both women felt soon vanished, for they
did have much in common, including a daring that women raised more
protectively might have found far too masculine to be fashionable.

"You
went all alone to Budapest to marry?" Winnie asked, less amazed than
envious of Mina's adventure.

"I had
to," Mina replied simply. "I had no one to go with me."

Winnie
looked at her, expressing no sympathy for the lack of parents or siblings. As
far as Winnie was concerned, family ties

were a curse that strangled
any real opportunity.

"And
what did you do before you married?" she asked.

"I was a teacher." "A tutor?" "At first,
but I wanted to do something more, well, more worthwhile, so I left to teach
school in London."

"London!
Dear, what an experience. Tell me about it?" Mina did, pleased to find someone
so interested in her ragged youngsters.

She supplied details with
only occasional prompting while Winnie refilled their cups.

"There are over forty women in
the Exeter Ladies Society. We have organized a school for poor children and
raised money to hire teachers," she said when Mina had finished. "We
also run a charity hospital. We've hired a doctor, and the rest of us are volunteers.
We learn as we go and do our best. I work at the hospital tomorrow. I'll show
you around if you wish."

Mina smiled.
"Did you invite me here to convert me?" she asked.

"Convert?
An appropriate word. Actually, Mina, when I met you, I sensed that you are a
woman who looks at her surroundings.

So many choose not to do so.
Blindness is so convenient, you know."

"I
know," Mina replied. She mentioned the children she'd seen collecting coal
beside the tracks.

"Last
week one had his foot caught beneath a tie. He lost one leg and most of his
second to a train that could not stop in time. I

think it was better that he
died."

"In
Romania I saw peasant children working the land with their parents. They must
have been terribly poor, but they seemed so

healthy."

"So you
believe in Rousseau's theory of the noble savage?"

"No." Mina fought the urge to smile. The expression
would have revealed too much. Later, when Winnie knew her well enough to be
certain of her sanity, Mina might tell her of Dracula. Not yet. "But I
believe in the responsibility that we must all share with those less
fortunate."

"Please
come to the hospital tomorrow. I must show you what we've done."

"I'm not certain I can get away," Mina lied. She wanted
to speak to Jonathan about the Exeter Ladies Society and make certain it was
more than a suffragette front before she got involved in it. Throughout the
afternoon, Mina had been keeping track of the time through the glass-domed
anniversary clock on the mantel. Though she would have gladly stayed the
evening, it seemed polite to go.

"Is it really five
already? I ought to leave," she said.

"It's getting dark,"
Winnie said. "Margaret should be back by now." She rang a bell, and a
girl no more than thirteen came running up the stairs from the kitchen. She
wore a plain gray dress with an embroidered white collar. "Mrs. Harker,
this is Margaret. She will see you home."

Margaret
curtsied pleasantly and went for her coat.

On the walk, Mina could not coax more than a dozen words out of
the child. Through those she learned that Margaret was an orphan, and had
lived with the Beasons for two years while attending the Exeter school. With
the first hint of emotion, Margaret proudly said that she had made her dress
herself. "Even the collar. Madam Winnie taught me needlework."

"Does
anyone else live with the Beasons?"

"My
brother did. But he was already sick when he came there and he died." She
said it simply, as if she had seen so much death

that its tragedy no longer
touched her.

They walked in silence until they
reached Mina's home. There Mina paused then had Margaret come inside. She
hastily wrote a note, telling Winnie that she would definitely visit the
hospital tomorrow. "Something to do," she said happily as she removed
her hat and arranged her hair in the hallway mirror. Jonathan would be home
soon. She wanted to look her best.

Dinner was not pleasant,
Mina wrote in her diary that night. I described my afternoon with Winnie and
decision to visit

the hospital. Millicent made her disapproval known. "This is
hardly the time to spend energy on charity work,” she grumbled, speaking to
Jonathan rather than to me as if he were my master not my husband.

"Some of the
wealthiest women in Exeter volunteer there,” I responded, looking at Jonathan
as she had when she'd

spoken.

Jonathan
hesitated. I could almost feel him considering the most tactful way to placate
us both. Staring directly at his aunt, he replied, "You have been such a
help to us that Mina has nothing to do. And she is right. The contacts she
makes could be valuable to all of us. "

"There's other
work, Jonathan. There's the preservation society, the literary clubs. I know
about all of them. She doesn't

have to work with all
those poor.” Millicent spoke the last words as if poverty were a curse.

Perhaps it was to her. Nonetheless I did not
hide my anger. "How can infants and small children have any blame for their
misfortune?" I retorted. "You may not have been a wealthy woman but
you were never penniless, you never lacked for food to eat or a bed for the
night. Decency demands that we share-"

"Mina!"
Jonathan exclaimed, cutting me off. I saw not anger but anguish in his
expression. Peace. Above all, he wanted