Mina (24 page)

place. Mina picked it up, commenting as she did, "It looks so
right here among our other treasures. I brought you something." She handed
Millicent the package, wrapped in lace and satin ribbon.

Millicent
opened it and pulled out a lifelike bluebird on a carved wood perch. It wound
like a music box and, when the lever in its

base was pushed, began to
chirp and move its wings.

"Jonathan
said there were bluebirds in the fields around your farm. I thought it would
remind you of home."

The woman did not smile, did not
thank her. "You have been so kind to me, even to the point of letting me
into your house," she said, the coldness of her tone so at odds with the
words and the intent of the gift she held in her hands. "While you and Jonathan
were away, I thought of how sad it was here with only Laura for company. Then I
considered how marvelous it was that Jonathan had acquired so much through
hard work and ambition. I would not want him to lose it, and since I am
convinced that you truly love him, I know you feel the same way."

"Of
course I do. Millicent, what is it?"

The woman
ignored the question, instead fingering the feathered head of the mechanical
bluebird in her palm. "If you do, you will

not bring any scandal on him.
Solicitors, and their families, must be above reproach."

How could
she know about one stolen kiss? It had to be something else, perhaps some silly
breach of Millicent's rigid etiquette.

"Neither Jonathan nor I
have done anything detrimental to his reputation."

"I'm
pleased to hear of it. Perhaps you would tell me, then, why you lied to me. The
pictures of Jonathan and me were drawn

here in Exeter."

Mina hesitated then responded with
the truth. "I lied because it was kinder than saying that my reasons for
going to London were private. However, my journey had nothing to do with some
lovers' meeting or any other scandal. You said it yourself, I love my husband."

"You
are flushed, my child. I hope it is out of righteousness." Millicent
paused, then added, with apparent sincerity, "Indeed, I'm

certain of it."

Tell me a secret, Mina thought, any
tiny secret at all. Tell me why you don't like to wear the blue brooch or the
real reason you detested Jonathan's mother, and even though Jonathan will
object, I will tell you where we went on the Continent and why. You will have
to believe it when Jonathan agrees with my story.

She said
none of that, however. She had been so fearless when she was among the men,
part of their team. Now, in the face of

one old woman, she was a
coward. "I'm going to bed early," she said. "Good night, Aunt
Millicent."

Millicent
paused. "Good night, child," she said wearily.

In Mina's
absence, Jonathan had rolled over and lost some of his covers. His face was
damp with sweat, and when Mina touched

his forehead to see if he had
a fever, he woke with a start.

"Are
you in pain? I could get some ice for your head," Mina said.

"Pain?
... Yes. Just stay with me as you did in the hospital in Budapest. I feel so much
better with you here."

She undressed quickly, put on her
cotton nightgown and joined him, lying with her back against his chest. In
spite of his illness, he was hard. She could feel his penis pressing against
the base of her spine. Usually she would roll over now and touch him, and he would
kiss her and whisper some loving endearment. Not tonight, she decided, not when
he was so ill and she so very confused.

She kissed the back of his
hand, snuggled closer to him and closed her eyes.

"Mina,"
he whispered, his hand on her thigh. She did not reply, and in a moment, he
rolled over and went to sleep.

A cry that did not seem to be human
woke her hours later. In the dim light from the candle she had left burning on
the table, she saw her husband's terrified expression. As she reached for him,
his hands moved out, pushing some unseen creature away. The cry came from him
again, a low, drawn-out howl of misery from deep within him, followed by her
name.

"Jonathan,
I'm here. Wake up."

He opened his
eyes and pulled her to him, holding her as he trembled in her arms. "The
drug. It made the pain go away, but what

came in its place was far,
far worse."

"It
helps to tell a nightmare, Jonathan," she said.

"The
vampire women. They came for me. They wanted me even though they were nothing
more than ghouls, their bodies rank

and decayed. I was pushing
them away, but they were as strong as they had been when they were alive. If
you hadn't been here, I

would have died in my dream,
I'm certain of it."

"I'll
always be here, Jonathan," she whispered, pushing back the damp dark hair
from his forehead, checking the bandage though

she already knew he had not
opened the wound.

Mina lay awake the rest of the
night, listening to Jonathan's even breaths, ready to battle the demons that
still plagued him. By dawn, she had reached a decision about Gance. She would
write him and tell him that she could never consider his proposal. She would
do it now. Once it was done, she would never change her mind.

She dared not use the writing desk
in her room. Instead, she went downstairs to Jonathan's study and desk drawer
for some paper. There, along with his pipe and pens and ink bottle, beside the
gold-plated watch that had been his father's, she discovered his pastel
chalks. Beneath them lay his sketchbook.

He'd begun
drawing again! How pleased she was to see that. If he would not come to her for
solace as he once did, he had at

least found another outlet.

The first picture was of her as she had looked on their wedding
day, with the little white hat and veil the only semblance of bridal dress.
She turned to the second page and almost dropped the book. There in plain
charcoal gray was Dracula's castle-the ruined walls, the ancient doors, the
stark beauty of clouds above it. She went on to the third drawing and stared
with astonishment at what he had done.

It was the woman, the dark one who
had been Dracula's wife. She stood beside a bed draped in heavy hangings, her
pale, naked body so lean, her expression so erotic. If he had drawn her
hurredly, Mina might have considered the work a kind of exorcism. But the
woman had been drawn with exquisite care. The cascade of dark hair was exactly
as Mina remembered it, the full lips that same shade of red, the nipples of
her breasts large and dark against her white skin. And he kept it where he
could stare at it often.

"Jonathan,"
she whispered. If she had been able to feel true righteousness, she would have
taken the book upstairs and

confronted him in private. With misery, she realized that her sin
was so much worse. He was attracted to a memory, playing with it like some
dirty fantasy while she considered taking a flesh-and-blood lover to dispel the
nightmares of her past.

She returned
the sketchbook to the drawer, arranging the chalks and other items as closely
as she could recall to how they had

been before, then quietly
returned to their room. Nothing was settled, she realized sadly. At least, not
yet.

The following Wednesday, Mina
received a note from Winnie asking her to stop by. When she got there, she
discovered that there had been an answer to her inquiries in London. James
Sebescue, owner of Z. Becks Books in Chelsea, had written that his father had
retired but was most interested in taking the work.

She read the
letter aloud, giving special emphasis to the final sentence,
There are many
charlatans who can give you an

approximate translation, Mrs. Beason. But my father is from that
part of the world. This is his native language, and he will be as faithful to
the original document as he is able. Please reply through me.

"He
makes a persuasive case," Winnie commented.

"Far
too persuasive. I was in `that part of the world' as he calls it, and I saw how
suspicious the natives were, even of perfectly

normal strangers. I'm
thankful I found Mr. Ujvari, for he seems a dedicated and sensible man."

"Will
you answer Mr. Sebescue's letter?"

"I suppose I should, since he
replied so quickly." Mina wrote a short note, thanking him for responding
and stating only that she had hired another translator, a young man who she
was certain would be faithful to the text. She hoped the curtness of her reply
would discourage him from contacting her again.

Business concluded,
she sat in Winnie's parlor drinking coffee and discussing her London vacation,
the evening at Rules and

Jonathan's accident. She did not mention Gance, but he was
foremost in her mind, his proposition making her feel more lighthearted than
she had in weeks. It seemed a genuine happiness. Someone loved her. Another
desired her. She knew how wrong the satisfaction was, for she was not vain, or
shallow. It was boredom, she decided. Though the thought of entering the
hospital wings terrified her, she nonetheless asked, "Would there be some
work I could do at the children's hospital? I don't think [ can work as a nurse
but perhaps in some other capacity?"

"There
is something you can do from home, and it's important. We need someone to raise
money for us, and to contact

physicians to donate their services. Personal contact is so
important. In the past I have done it, but I simply don't have the time to devote
to calls. Could you go in my place?"

"I
could."

"Then
wait a moment." Winnie left Mina alone for a few minutes, then returned
with the rough draft of a letter and a list of donors.

"These people always
give something, but a visit seems to raise the donations considerably."

Mina looked
at the donor list and the amounts given. Most of Exeter's wealthier individuals
were on it. Near the top, she saw

Lord Gance's name. She had
expected to see it, but the amount he donated, over five hundred pounds a year,
astonished her.

"Have any of these
people ever visited the hospital?" she asked.

"Lords
Somersby, Gance and Fenton. Lady Fenton did volunteer work when we first opened
our doors, but soon lost interest. It

is not particularly
fashionable work. I can understand why she did not like it."

"Have
you considered offering tours of the hospital?"

"We
held one open house a year after we opened. Five people came, and they would
have come later anyway. People don't

mind paying to alleviate
misery, particularly if they don't have to look at it."

"They look at it every
day," Mina commented, and shook her head sadly. Tomorrow she would start
her work, sending notes to the top five donors, asking permission to call.
Gance was one of them. She wanted an excuse to see him again, to judge him, to
decide.

Gance fingered the far too formal
request to call that Mina Harker had written him. In it, she had made it clear
that the visit to his business address was on behalf of the Exeter Ladies
Society and their hospital. It was possible that she was intending to reject
his proposal. On the other hand, this could also indicate her great
discretion. He approved of that. He was not one to boast of his affairs; the
few that had become public knowledge had been trouble enough. A tarnished
reputation made him interesting; a blackened one would make him an outcast.

He had already made his arrangements
for Mina. His mistress had wanted to travel to India and visit her brother.
Gance had provided the steamer ticket and two hundred pounds for expenses. She
had not asked him to take her to Plymouth to board the ship, nor had he
volunteered. They had not said good-bye, but he doubted he would see her again.
He briefly considered that she had loved him, then dismissed the thought. If
she had loved him, it was of no consequence, save that the emotion had made her
less amusing.

He had dressed carefully for this
meeting, choosing a businesslike jacket and vest in black wool, white silk
shirt and, for effect, a deep blue ascot. The colors made him seem paler,
thinner. He had always detested the look, for it made him appear ill, but he sensed
that Mina Harker found this appealing. After nights listening to Arthur rave
about demonic seductions by the walking dead, he understood why.

How much of Arthur's story was real?
How much a shared delusion? Mostly the latter, no doubt, particularly since
that idiot Jack Seward was involved. Nonetheless, had he not been attracted to
Mina Harker before, he certainly would have been after hearing Arthur's story.

Mina arrived punctually at eleven. Though Gance knew his clerk had
asked for her coat, she left it on, no doubt intending to leave as soon as
possible. The black fur of the high collar was dotted with snow. There was snow
in her chestnut hair as well, and her cheeks were red from the cold. She
seemed younger than she had looked the other times they'd met, perhaps no more
than twenty.

No wonder she had been so
coy.

He offered
her a seat then sat behind his desk, waiting for her to speak. After all, she
had come to see him.

She immediately began her
presentation on the hospital-the number of children who had been cared for over
the last year, the need it had to expand. Throughout it, she handed him
photographs of the wards, drawings of the proposed changes. He suspected that
she had given the same presentation a few times before. He doubted she had been
so nervous on the other occasions. "So, of course, I came to see
you," she concluded. "You have been so generous in the past."

"Of
course. I wish to be known for my generosity."