undercurrent to life, the
evil that ended in sudden violent death.
He booked
passage on the next ship to England and arrived in Exeter five days before
Christmas. The holiday season was in full
swing, but he had no gifts for anyone, no explanation of where he
had been save the story that the survivors had made up, of Quincey's dying of
some illness in Austria. The story seemed so preposterous to anyone who knew
Quincey well that Arthur was more honest with Quincey's family. Quincey had
been shot by gypsies in Romania, he said. It seemed to comfort them to know
that Quincey's life had ended through the same romantic wanderlust by which he
had always lived, and that he had died in some exotic place. Quincey's
youngest brother had even pulled out an atlas and asked him to point to the
area where Quincey had died.
Arthur thought of that often. He
dwelled on the map and the boy with the same wanderlust in his eyes, and the
lies he had told, as he sat alone in his house in Exeter. He barely touched
his meals, dared not drink alone, for the dreams that followed intoxication were
vivid and terrible. He sent a quick note to the Harkers, letting them know that
he'd returned and begging them to tell no one that he was at home.
Gradually, though, word of his
return leaked out. Friends came to call and were turned away at the door. He
dined Christmas Eve at the Harker home but left early, pleading exhaustion
from the trip though he had already been back for over a week. It pleased him
to see Jonathan and Mina so happy, so ready to put the recent tragedies behind
them. Yet, mean though the thought might be, their very happiness gave him
pain. His love was gone, and others laughed.
And he had
to deal with the saddest thought of all. He wanted someone to take Lucy's
place, needed that someone desperately
and condemned himself for his
weakness.
Arthur was sitting in his study, staring at the flames in the
fireplace, watching the wood slowly consumed, when Lord Gance rang his bell.
He heard his butler give the usual excuse, and then heard Gance's rude
response: "The hell he's ill! He's brooding. And he needs company. Now,
tell me where he is!"
His butler did not reply, but Arthur was certain the man must have
silently agreed and pointed toward the study. A moment later the door banged
open and Gance entered, bringing with him a rush of crisp winter air. His pale
hair glistened with snowflakes, his dark cape was white at the shoulders.
"I did not come all this way in this disgusting weather to hear that you
were ill, Arthur, when it is perfectly obvious to anyone who knows you that
you are not. Now, have I offended you in some way?"
"Not
until this moment," Arthur replied with a wan smile.
"Has anyone?" "No."
Gance went
to the sideboard and poured a brandy, then a second for his host. "So what
in heaven's name are you doing here?"
he asked.
Arthur
spread his hands. "Why, nothing. What concern is it of yours anyway?"
Gance thrust
the drink into Arthur's hand and laughed. "Everyone who counts in this
city has made it my concern. They knew
there was no one else
obnoxious enough to push past the barricade of your devoted retainers."
"What
do you want, Winston?"
"A revolution. The overthrow of
Lord Godalming and the return of the
Honorable
Arthur Holmwood-a young man
of wealth who knew how to enjoy himself most thoroughly. Seriously, Arthur, I
met your beautiful Lucy a number of times, often enough to know that she would
not appreciate seeing you holed up this way."
"Damn you,
I am in mourning!"
"If you
had died in her place, she would not have missed the holiday season, Arthur.
Now, don't look so furious. I'm only
speaking the truth. Put on something somber. Wear a black arm band
or even a widow's veil over your head if it pleases you, but come to tonight's
dinner party at the Ellisons'. Otherwise, I will be forced to bring everyone
back here afterward."
All the emotions Arthur had managed to hide surfaced now, with
anger and despair the most potent. He pushed himself to his feet with such
difficulty that Gance wondered how long he had been brooding in that chair.
Swaying slightly, Arthur tossed his glass into the fireplace and watched the
brandy sizzle and briefly flame in the heat of the embers. "Whatever I
have seen or done is my affair, Winston. Now, I am asking for the last time
that you leave my house!"
"I'll
bring you a plate of sweets. I hear Ellison's cook is even making a rum torte
strong enough to put Lady Grayson in her cups."
Lady Grayson's activities in the
temperance movement were notorious, but Arthur did not smile. Instead he walked
toward Gance, his expression filled with fury. He was larger than Gance,
stronger as well. Gance wisely retreated, stopping only when he had the front
door open behind him. "Good God, Arthur, what did you see?"
"The devil," Arthur
whispered. Gance stood outside; all Arthur had to do was close and lock the
door behind him and he could return to his solitude. Gance, with his
cadaverous body and pale beauty, brought the memories back too vividly. But,
oddly enough, Gance was the one most likely to banish them as well.
Arthur
hesitated. "Am I to leave or stay?" Gance asked.
"If you
promise not to ask where I've been, stay. Tell me everything that's gone on this
season. Be precise. Be sarcastic. Take my
mind off all the
deaths."
"Gladly.
First I'll pour us both another drink. Even secondhand, the Exeter holiday
season is best approached while slightly tipsy."
One drink,
Arthur thought, or two at most. Enough to make me sociable, no more. "All
right," he said, and returned to the
comfort of his chair, the
consuming warmth of his fire.
Gance talked. Arthur drank. Each glass numbed him a little more,
each burst of laughter made him feel better, though it was a frantic kind of
pleasure. It would end, Arthur knew, end as soon as he was alone. Already he
could feel the blackness growing around him, like a pit-from which the only
escape was to imagine happiness, though he knew it was an illusion.
Sometime
during the course of the evening, Gance mentioned Lucy once more, and Arthur
unexpectedly began to cry. Arthur
recalled Gance sitting on the
arm of his chair, a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Arthur
remembered another drink, then nothing, though when he woke, he was in Gance's
nightclothes in a guest room in Gance's
house. It would be like Gance
to drag him out, but to take him home was a different matter.
A servant
brought him breakfast. Gance came in later with a deck of cards. They played for
an hour, then Arthur napped until
dinner. As he went downstairs
in clothes rumpled from days of wear, he discovered Mina and Jonathan with his
host.
Arthur
picked at his food. Gance devoured his quickly then sat sipping a glass of wine
and listening for some news of the others'
journey. Though they had been
together for weeks, they did not mention the trip.
The group took tea and dessert in
the warmth of Gance's parlor. As they went in to it, Mina stayed behind with
Gance for a moment. He expected her to mention the parcel, but instead she
whispered, "Thank you for calling us. He does seem worse than when we saw
him last week. I'm glad you forced him out."
"He was raving last night about the devil in human form.
Could he be possessed, do you think?" Gance said it so seriously that Mina
could not tell if he was joking. "I think not," she said.
"There are legends in Romania,
of wolves and bats that can turn into men. Vampires, I believe they are called,
though they're hardly as silly as that Varney character in the penny
dreadfuls. They infect their victims, I hear, enslave their souls or something
like that."
"Please,
Lord Gance. I doubt that your friend had been infected by anything," she
replied. "I'm amazed you consider such things
possible." It surprised
Gance that she did not smile. He had intended the notion to be utterly
outrageous.
"Madam,
if God can work miracles, why not His greatest enemy? However, I only wondered
about the stories since Arthur kept
repeating something that
seemed so odd."
"What
was it?"
"Denn die tolten reiten schnell.
You
know German,
don't you?" "No,"
Mina answered, though she knew that
phrase well enough.
" ‘For
the dead travel fast.’ I find that most interesting, especially since I can't
help but think of poor Arthur as haunted."
They sat in near darkness, with the
burning logs in the marble fireplace and the candles on the table shedding a
dim golden light on them all. Gance had set a specific mood, Mina thought, one
ideal for ghost stories and primitive legends, but none of them had any desire
to speak of those. The thought of discussing any of what they had seen or heard
disturbed Mina. Yet, there was poor Arthur, as helpless as she was, both of
them unable to shake the memories of that journey. Perhaps together they could
exorcise their ghosts.
As they were
leaving, she took Arthur's hand, then looked at Jonathan. "Darling, I'd
like to come tomorrow and see Arthur. Do
we have any plans?"
"None.
Perhaps Winnie would accompany you."
"I'll
ask her," Mina replied, though she knew Winnie would be spending the day
at the hospital.
Mina went over the household
accounts with Millicent during breakfast the next morning. She would have
preferred to eat and do the work afterward, but Millicent did not like to
waste time. When they'd finished, they discussed the menu for a holiday party
she and Jonathan were giving the following week for Jonathan's clerks.
Millicent argued against all of Mina's suggestions, noting quite correctly that
she did the shopping and knew what was available. "There are no lambs to
be had, dear, only yearlings and mutton, which are too strong for curries. The
sturgeon are at their freshest in winter. Beef is marbled and tender." She
went on planning a menu nothing like the one Mina had in mind. In the end,
Mina let her have her way. Millicent had an affection for food that Mina would
never understand, though she respected and enjoyed the result.
But the
kitchen was the only part of the house Mina would cede to Millicent. Her own
life, and the running of the house, had
gradually fallen into Mina's control. She had become used to
dealing with Laura and the other hired help, but Millicent's position in the
household was too nebulous. And now that Millicent was established here, Mina
saw no polite way to ask her to leave.
Mina avoided
the woman as best she could. She did so now, waiting until Millicent had gone
to market before leaving the house
herself and walking the short
distance to the Gance estate.
A servant answered Lord Gance's door
and showed her upstairs, where she discovered Arthur sleeping soundly. The
draperies were closed, but in the dim light she saw a scratch on his cheek,
and on the side of his neck a pair of marks that might have been a shaving
cut, an insect bite or ... She wanted to run or to shake him awake. Neither
seemed correct, but the latter, at least, would set her mind at ease.
"Arthur," she called, lightly so as not to alarm him. "Arthur,
please wake up."
"Lucy,"
he whispered and opened his eyes. A smile touched his lips just for a moment;
then, when he saw Mina beside him, it
vanished, to return as
something polite rather than blissful. "I was dreaming of Lucy," he
said. "Did I call out her name?"
"You
did. Are you better?"
He laughed
without any real humor. "Better than what? Than self-pity, Winston would
answer, but then he has never really loved
anyone. I used to feel sorry
for him. I envy him now."
"He
seems to care a great deal about you."
"Of
course he does," Arthur replied. "We amuse one another. And how are
you? Do you still have nightmares?"
"Sometimes."
She promised herself she would tell him the truth when he was better, thought
of Lucy and added, "Nearly every
night and they seem to be getting
stronger."
Arthur nodded sadly. "So have mine. Does Jonathan
dream?" "I don't know. I've asked him, but he won't talk about
them." "That would be like him. He'd bear them alone if he did. I
think he'd die before he worried you." "That's a terrible thought."
"Yes,
it is, but it's something all good men do for the women they cherish."
Though the honesty clearly pained him, he added, "I
think sometimes that's what
killed my dear Lucy. Seward loved her too much."
"It's
over," Mina said, though privately she agreed with him. "Whatever we
might have done differently is all sad and useless
speculation."
A maid carrying a tray interrupted them. Conversation stopped
while she poured for them, and after she left, whatever secrets their
conversation might have revealed had ended. They finished in silence, then Mina
left, promising to come again the following day.
As soon as she had gone, Arthur lay back. His head pounded from
the brandy he'd drunk last night. Now that he was alone, he realized that
there were also strange gaps i« his memory. He was getting too old for
intoxication, he decided. Too old to waste time on self-pity as well, but in
spite of this, he'd rather sit home and brood than endure any more of Gance's
forced dissipation.
He dressed
slowly then took stock of himself in the mirror. He looked about as well as
could be expected after a two-day drunk,
with the pale stubble on his
face, his red and swollen eyes, the cut on his cheek and...
The marks!
He had to look at them closely before he dared to touch them, to feel that they
were not bites but scratches, most
likely made by his own nails
while he slept and dreamed of fighting off the beloved he longed to hold in his
arms.
To hell with
the etiquette of saying good-bye to his host, he decided. He could send a note
to Winston later. He took his coat and
hat from the cupboard and
started toward the stairs.