peace.
"Winnie Beason works two days a week there.
If I approve of what I see, I will be doing the same,” I said evenly, left the
table and came upstairs to write this. I notice that my hands are shaking, but
I said what I felt, as calmly as / was able. I consider that a triumph.
The Exeter Charity Hospital was
located in one of the older, poorer sections of town. Its front doors opened
onto a wide street where carriages could come and go, dropping off not
patients but the wealthier women who volunteered their time. High brick walls flanked
both sides of the old hospital, and the building itself, while sturdy, looked
windowless and ugly from the front. Judging from the area, Mina thought that
at one time the building might have been a warehouse or factory.
The waiting room was cheerier than Mina had expected. A large open
hall had locked cupboards along one wall, mismatched chairs and davenports in
the center. Since there was no one to receive her, she followed the
instructions posted on the wall and rang the bell. The faint smell of lye hung
in the air, a smell that became stronger when the inner doors opened and a stern-faced
young woman motioned her inside.
Winnie stood
next to one of the beds, spoon-feeding a youngster who had both arms in
splints. She gave the duty to the woman
who had brought Mina in so
they could tour the building.
They walked past rows of cots placed
so close together that the nurses could only approach the beds sideways. Girls
were on one side of the huge room, boys on the other, and a screen that could
be moved from bed to bed provided the only privacy. Mina noted sadly that
there were no empty places.
"Winter
is one of our most difficult times," Winnie said. "Malnutrition and
this terrible damp cause so much disease. If any more
patients come in, we'll have
to double up the babies to make room."
"Are
there always so few nurses?"
"It's nearly Christmas, Mina,
hardly a time to risk becoming ill by working here. This is also the ward for
the oldest children. Most of the women prefer working with the babies, so this
section is always understaffed. I would be here every day, but Mr. Beason will
not allow it. Ever since he learned that microbes are responsible for disease,
he has a terrible fear of this place. As a result, I am only allowed to work
here on days when he is certain he will be at the office until late, and I must
bathe and have Margaret scrub my clothes before he comes home. Fortunately,
Mr. Beason also has the hugest heart of anyone I have ever known. I should
like you and your husband to meet him."
It was an
opening, Mina knew, but she was not sure how to respond. "I would love to
have you both for dinner," she said.
"Sunday, perhaps."
"Sunday,"
Winnie said. "Definitely." She linked her arm through Mina's and led
her to the infants' ward.
The ward
faced south. Tall windows let in the sun, making the room both bright and hot.
The smell of lye, sour milk and dirty
diapers made Mina's eyes water. There were no cots in this room.
Instead long tables were arranged in front of every window, and on them
unpainted cribs held infants and toddlers. Many were dull-eyed from fever,
their faces and bodies marked with sores. Others appeared nearly well, playing
happily with stuffed dolls and strings of painted beads. Mina had expected to
see more mothers there, but only a handful sat beside their babes. Two mothers
were nursing, and as soon as the children had finished, they rearranged their
clothing and left. "Most of the mothers work," Winnie explained.
"And most of them have other children to care for."
"The
babies have no clothes," Mina commented, looking at all the tiny pale
bodies around her.
"If
they did, we'd have more to wash-scrub actually, since so many of the children
have infectious diseases. The room is warm
and blankets and diapers are
work enough for the staff. Besides, Mr. Beason has very definite ideas about
cleanliness."
"Your
husband?"
"Mr.
Beason founded this hospital. He may never set foot in it, but I assure you, he
is as much a part of it as any volunteer."
One of the toddlers had escaped his
crib and crawled beside Mina, gripping her skirt for support as he stood. His
shoulder and the side of his face were burned, the depth of the wounds making
it certain he would be scarred for life. Mina wanted to lift him, but his
hands and knees were dirty. She wished she had dressed more simply.
Winnie picked up the child. Before
putting him back in his crib, she carried him to the huge porcelain sinks and
washed the dirt from his knees and palms. "Do you know that this building
used to be a slaughterhouse?" Winnie asked as she carried the child to his
bed. "Now water and lye goes down the drains instead of blood. I like to
think of that. The history of the place makes our work all the more fitting
somehow. Mina, what is it?" she asked, and followed Mina's fixed stare to
the crib behind her.
The infant
in it had a long, deep gash across his cheek. A thick bandage wrapped tightly
around one of his arms was soaked and
dripping fresh blood, and
blood stained the bedding as well. Winnie glanced from Mina to the child.
"Esther!" she screamed.
"Esther, come and help me, William's stitches have
opened!" She pushed Mina aside, unaware of how pale her friend's face had
become, and lifted the unconscious child.
The babies
around them, startled by Winnie's call, began to cry, their noise drowning out
Mina's soft plea for help as she gripped
the side of the empty crib for support. It tipped toward her, and
she fell with the bloody linens falling above her. A scream, seemingly from a
great distance, followed her descent, and she wondered vaguely if it had come
from Winnie or herself.
The scent of
blood was all around her-the child's mingling with the scent of her own-and for
a moment its terrible pervasiveness
blocked out sound, and
speech.
She felt herself pulled along the
floor then lifted by more than one person and carried to a cooler, quieter
room, where she was placed on a cot. She felt someone grip her hand, heard
Winnie calling her name. "If you don't open your eyes, I am going to have
to wave smelling salts under your nose, Mina dear. They're quite disgusting.
I'd rather not."
"I'm
still here," Mina whispered.
"I'm so sorry, dear. It was an emergency. The child . .
."
“
The child is dead," Mina finished for her and squeezed her
hand.
"How
could you know? Well, perhaps it was obvious, the poor little thing. It's a
wonder he survived his accident at all."
Mina opened her eyes and focused on
her friend's face, on the tears on Winnie's cheeks. They weren't for her, she
knew, but soon they would be. She felt the pain that had made her so faint on
the channel crossing, like a hand gripping her womb with relentless strength.
Her thighs were wet and sticky. "Please send for a carriage," she
said, wanting nothing more than to go home and somehow get to her room and wash
and change. Afterward, she could go to bed and plead illness until the pain
subsided.
Her body
would not allow it. As she sat on the edge of the cot and reached for her
cloak, a wave of pain coursed through her.
She pressed her hands against
her stomach and moaned.
"Mina,
you're hurt!" Winnie exclaimed.
Mina shook
her head. "No, I'm not certain but I think I may be losing a child. I've
never felt a pain like this before."
"How late were you?" "About ten days."
"Then
it's far too early to tell. Even so, after what happened you need a doctor.
While he examines you, I'll send for your
husband."
"NoWinnie,
please. Just take me home."
"Not
yet, dear," Winnie said. Her eyes focused evenly on Mina's, and her voice
was firm, that of a nurse to a patient. "Just lie
back and rest. I'll take care
of everything."
Winnie did.
Throughout the next few hours, she left Mina's side only to bring her gauze and
tea and, when the bleeding increased,
bringing with it an increase
in pain, laudanum.
That
evening, after helping Mina change into one of the gray hospital work gowns,
Winnie took her home in a hired carriage. At
Mina's house, she asked the
driver to leave and helped Mina to the door.
Laura answered the bell. Noting her mistress's pale face and how
heavily she leaned on the woman with her, she immediately went for Millicent.
By the time the two returned, Winnie had helped Mina upstairs to her room.
"Who is this woman?" Millicent asked.
Mina, giddy
from the pain and the drug, giggled. "Madam Winifred Beason, wife of the
founder of the Exeter Charity Hospital for
Children," Mina replied.
"And my nurse. Winnie, this is Miss Millicent Harker, my . . ."
"A nurse?" Millicent asked before Mina could finish.
"Why on earth do you need a nurse?" "She suffered a fainting
spell while visiting the hospital," Winnie replied for her. "Now,
please, Miss Harker. Mina is still very
weak. I must help her
undress."
"Where
are her own clothes?"
"Being washed, madam. They were
soiled when Mrs. Harker fell. Now, please, would you go downstairs and ask the
maid to bring a sponge and hot water so Mina can bathe?" As tactfully as
she could, Winnie began forcing Millicent back toward the bedroom door.
"I am
quite able to take care of my nephew's wife myself, Mrs. Beason,"
Millicent replied.
"I'm sure you are, but since I
brought her home and it is my training, I might as well see her safely into
bed. Some tea would make her feel better, I think. If you would please summon
a servant." With one final step forward, she forced Millicent into the
hall and shut the door.
". . .
my husband's aunt." Mina, finally able to finish the introduction, smiled
weakly.
"Should
I have let her stay?"
"No. I
want to be the one to tell my husband." She sat on the edge of her bed and
removed her bonnet and coat. Winnie helped
with the rest then sat with
her until, finally, Mina slept.
Though
Winnie had aired the room before she left, the smell of blood was still strong,
its reminder drawing Mina into the
nightmare of a terrible, bloody birth and a black-haired child
with dark knowing eyes that glowed red in the center as she nursed him.
Horrified, her dream self screamed. Laughter answered, and the three vampire
women floated toward her, each carrying a child of her own who suckled their
naked breasts though blood, not milk, dripped from their nipples. "Sister,
what a gift you bring!" they cried in their cold and beautiful voices.
They surrounded her, lifting the child from her arms. Milk dripped from his
tiny mouth.
His tiny hands gripped their
hair as they raised him to their lips and began to feast on him one after the
other.
She would
have thrashed, fought until she woke, but the laudanum Winnie had given her
allowed no release.
"How can you do this! How can
you let them destroy your son!" she screamed to the darkness beyond the
women's hovering forms. There was no reply, no salvation to be found in
calling him. Dracula's powers did not extend this far. The women moved toward
her slowly, their hands rubbing her swollen breasts, her stomach still painful
and swollen from the recent birth. She opened her mouth to cry out, and the
fair one covered it with her own. She felt the life leaving her body, blood
through her womb, breath through her parted lips.
When
Jonathan woke Mina that evening, she was sticky with sweat. She shook as he
held her, then lay back and took his hand.
"Did
the fever return?" he asked.
She shook
her head. "I fainted, but I'm certain it's for the last time."
"How
can you know?" he asked.
"I
can't be certain, but I might have been pregnant, Jonathan. I'm bleeding now. I
may have lost a child."
"Child?" Comprehension came slowly, followed by a grief
that brought its own sharp pain. She saw him wince, his eyes blinking to hold
back the tears. She rested a hand on his sleeve. It seemed so pale against the
dark gray wool, so small and delicate as he wrapped it in his own. She felt
more helpless than she ever had, more in need of his comfort, as if she were a
little girl and he her father not her husband. "Oh, Mina. Are you
certain?" he asked.
"No,
but my monthly was late by three weeks and the pain ... I've never felt such
pain." She lied about the days, but the rest was
true enough. Birth must feel like
this, she thought.
"You would have conceived before. . ." "Definitely,
Jonathan. Before." Neither of them mentioned the name. Dracula. He drained
their life force even now. They feared him even now.
"I love
you," he whispered, and kissed her hand.
The tragedy
brought them close, closer than even their desperate journey had, because now
there was only her and him and no
one else to share the sorrow. He would understand what she had
done, she decided. She took his hand intending to tell him everything that had
happened in her days with Van Helsing, and of the book she had found.
Millicent's
footsteps in the hall outside stopped her. "Don't tell her about the
child," Mina whispered. "She'll treat me like an