Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER 17


DR. SEWARD'S DIARY-cont.

When we arrived at the Berkely Hotel, Van Helsing found a telegram
waiting for him.

"Am coming up by train. Jonathan at Whitby. Important news. Mina
Harker."


The Professor was delighted. "Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina," he
said, "pearl among women! She arrive, but I cannot stay. She must go
to your house, friend John. You must meet her at the station.
Telegraph her en route so that she may be prepared."

When the wire was dispatched he had a cup of tea. Over it he told me
of a diary kept by Jonathan Harker when abroad, and gave me a
typewritten copy of it, as also of Mrs. Harker's diary at Whitby.
"Take these," he said, "and study them well. When I have returned you
will be master of all the facts, and we can then better enter on our
inquisition. Keep them safe, for there is in them much of treasure.
You will need all your faith, even you who have had such an experience
as that of today. What is here told," he laid his hand heavily and
gravely on the packet of papers as he spoke, "may be the beginning of
the end to you and me and many another, or it may sound the knell of
the UnDead who walk the earth. Read all, I pray you, with the open
mind, and if you can add in any way to the story here told do so, for
it is all important. You have kept a diary of all these so strange
things, is it not so? Yes! Then we shall go through all these
together when we meet." He then made ready for his departure and
shortly drove off to Liverpool Street. I took my way to Paddington,
where I arrived about fifteen minutes before the train came in.

The crowd melted away, after the bustling fashion common to arrival
platforms, and I was beginning to feel uneasy, lest I might miss my
guest, when a sweet-faced, dainty looking girl stepped up to me, and
after a quick glance said, "Dr. Seward, is it not?"

"And you are Mrs. Harker!" I answered at once, whereupon she held out
her hand.

"I knew you from the description of poor dear Lucy, but . . ." She
stopped suddenly, and a quick blush overspread her face.

The blush that rose to my own cheeks somehow set us both at ease, for
it was a tacit answer to her own. I got her luggage, which included a
typewriter, and we took the Underground to Fenchurch Street, after I
had sent a wire to my housekeeper to have a sitting room and a bedroom
prepared at once for Mrs. Harker.

In due time we arrived. She knew, of course, that the place was a
lunatic asylum, but I could see that she was unable to repress a
shudder when we entered.

She told me that, if she might, she would come presently to my study,
as she had much to say. So here I am finishing my entry in my
phonograph diary whilst I await her. As yet I have not had the chance
of looking at the papers which Van Helsing left with me, though they
lie open before me. I must get her interested in something, so that I
may have an opportunity of reading them. She does not know how
precious time is, or what a task we have in hand. I must be careful
not to frighten her. Here she is!




MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL

29 September.--After I had tidied myself, I went down to Dr. Seward's
study. At the door I paused a moment, for I thought I heard him
talking with some one. As, however, he had pressed me to be quick, I
knocked at the door, and on his calling out, "Come in," I entered.

To my intense surprise, there was no one with him. He was quite
alone, and on the table opposite him was what I knew at once from the
description to be a phonograph. I had never seen one, and was much
interested.

"I hope I did not keep you waiting," I said, "but I stayed at the door
as I heard you talking, and thought there was someone with you."

"Oh," he replied with a smile, "I was only entering my diary."

"Your diary?" I asked him in surprise.

"Yes," he answered. "I keep it in this." As he spoke he laid his
hand on the phonograph. I felt quite excited over it, and blurted
out, "Why, this beats even shorthand! May I hear it say something?"

"Certainly," he replied with alacrity, and stood up to put it in train
for speaking. Then he paused, and a troubled look overspread his
face.

"The fact is," he began awkwardly, "I only keep my diary in it, and as
it is entirely, almost entirely, about my cases it may be awkward,
that is, I mean . . ." He stopped, and I tried to help him out of his
embarrassment.

"You helped to attend dear Lucy at the end. Let me hear how she died,
for all that I know of her, I shall be very grateful. She was very,
very dear to me."

To my surprise, he answered, with a horrorstruck look in his face,
"Tell you of her death? Not for the wide world!"

"Why not?" I asked, for some grave, terrible feeling was coming over me.

Again he paused, and I could see that he was trying to invent an
excuse. At length, he stammered out, "You see, I do not know how to
pick out any particular part of the diary."

Even while he was speaking an idea dawned upon him, and he said with
unconscious simplicity, in a different voice, and with the naivete of
a child, "that's quite true, upon my honour. Honest Indian!"

I could not but smile, at which he grimaced. "I gave myself away that
time!" he said. "But do you know that, although I have kept the diary
for months past, it never once struck me how I was going to find any
particular part of it in case I wanted to look it up?"

By this time my mind was made up that the diary of a doctor who
attended Lucy might have something to add to the sum of our knowledge
of that terrible Being, and I said boldly, "Then, Dr. Seward, you had
better let me copy it out for you on my typewriter."

He grew to a positively deathly pallor as he said, "No! No! No! For
all the world. I wouldn't let you know that terrible story!"

Then it was terrible. My intuition was right! For a moment, I
thought, and as my eyes ranged the room, unconsciously looking for
something or some opportunity to aid me, they lit on a great batch of
typewriting on the table. His eyes caught the look in mine, and
without his thinking, followed their direction. As they saw the
parcel he realized my meaning.

"You do not know me," I said. "When you have read those papers, my
own diary and my husband's also, which I have typed, you will know me
better. I have not faltered in giving every thought of my own heart
in this cause. But, of course, you do not know me, yet, and I must
not expect you to trust me so far."

He is certainly a man of noble nature. Poor dear Lucy was right about
him. He stood up and opened a large drawer, in which were arranged in
order a number of hollow cylinders of metal covered with dark wax, and
said,

"You are quite right. I did not trust you because I did not know
you. But I know you now, and let me say that I should have known you
long ago. I know that Lucy told you of me. She told me of you too.
May I make the only atonement in my power? Take the cylinders and
hear them. The first half-dozen of them are personal to me, and they
will not horrify you. Then you will know me better. Dinner will by
then be ready. In the meantime I shall read over some of these
documents, and shall be better able to understand certain things."

He carried the phonograph himself up to my sitting room and adjusted
it for me. Now I shall learn something pleasant, I am sure. For it
will tell me the other side of a true love episode of which I know one
side already.




DR. SEWARD'S DIARY

29 September.--I was so absorbed in that wonderful diary of Jonathan
Harker and that other of his wife that I let the time run on without
thinking. Mrs. Harker was not down when the maid came to announce
dinner, so I said, "She is possibly tired. Let dinner wait an hour,"
and I went on with my work. I had just finished Mrs. Harker's diary,
when she came in. She looked sweetly pretty, but very sad, and her
eyes were flushed with crying. This somehow moved me much. Of late I
have had cause for tears, God knows! But the relief of them was
denied me, and now the sight of those sweet eyes, brightened by recent
tears, went straight to my heart. So I said as gently as I could, "I
greatly fear I have distressed you."

"Oh, no, not distressed me," she replied. "But I have been more
touched than I can say by your grief. That is a wonderful machine,
but it is cruelly true. It told me, in its very tones, the anguish of
your heart. It was like a soul crying out to Almighty God. No one
must hear them spoken ever again! See, I have tried to be useful. I
have copied out the words on my typewriter, and none other need now
hear your heart beat, as I did."

"No one need ever know, shall ever know," I said in a low voice. She
laid her hand on mine and said very gravely, "Ah, but they must!"

"Must! But why?" I asked.

"Because it is a part of the terrible story, a part of poor Lucy's
death and all that led to it. Because in the struggle which we have
before us to rid the earth of this terrible monster we must have all
the knowledge and all the help which we can get. I think that the
cylinders which you gave me contained more than you intended me to
know. But I can see that there are in your record many lights to this
dark mystery. You will let me help, will you not? I know all up to a
certain point, and I see already, though your diary only took me to 7
September, how poor Lucy was beset, and how her terrible doom was
being wrought out. Jonathan and I have been working day and night
since Professor Van Helsing saw us. He is gone to Whitby to get more
information, and he will be here tomorrow to help us. We need have no
secrets amongst us. Working together and with absolute trust, we can
surely be stronger than if some of us were in the dark."

She looked at me so appealingly, and at the same time manifested such
courage and resolution in her bearing, that I gave in at once to her
wishes. "You shall," I said, "do as you like in the matter. God
forgive me if I do wrong! There are terrible things yet to learn of,
but if you have so far traveled on the road to poor Lucy's death, you
will not be content, I know, to remain in the dark. Nay, the end, the
very end, may give you a gleam of peace. Come, there is dinner. We
must keep one another strong for what is before us. We have a cruel
and dreadful task. When you have eaten you shall learn the rest, and
I shall answer any questions you ask, if there be anything which you
do not understand, though it was apparent to us who were present."



MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL

29 September.--After dinner I came with Dr. Seward to his study. He
brought back the phonograph from my room, and I took a chair, and
arranged the phonograph so that I could touch it without getting up,
and showed me how to stop it in case I should want to pause. Then he
very thoughtfully took a chair, with his back to me, so that I might
be as free as possible, and began to read. I put the forked metal to
my ears and listened.

When the terrible story of Lucy's death, and all that followed, was
done, I lay back in my chair powerless. Fortunately I am not of a
fainting disposition. When Dr. Seward saw me he jumped up with a
horrified exclamation, and hurriedly taking a case bottle from the
cupboard, gave me some brandy, which in a few minutes somewhat
restored me. My brain was all in a whirl, and only that there came
through all the multitude of horrors, the holy ray of light that my
dear Lucy was at last at peace, I do not think I could have borne it
without making a scene. It is all so wild and mysterious, and strange
that if I had not known Jonathan's experience in Transylvania I could
not have believed. As it was, I didn't know what to believe, and so
got out of my difficulty by attending to something else. I took the
cover off my typewriter, and said to Dr. Seward,

"Let me write this all out now. We must be ready for Dr. Van Helsing
when he comes. I have sent a telegram to Jonathan to come on here
when he arrives in London from Whitby. In this matter dates are
everything, and I think that if we get all of our material ready, and
have every item put in chronological order, we shall have done much.

"You tell me that Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris are coming too. Let
us be able to tell them when they come."

He accordingly set the phonograph at a slow pace, and I began to
typewrite from the beginning of the seventeenth cylinder. I used
manifold, and so took three copies of the diary, just as I had done
with the rest. It was late when I got through, but Dr. Seward went
about his work of going his round of the patients. When he had
finished he came back and sat near me, reading, so that I did not feel
too lonely whilst I worked. How good and thoughtful he is. The world
seems full of good men, even if there are monsters in it.

Before I left him I remembered what Jonathan put in his diary of the
Professor's perturbation at reading something in an evening paper at
the station at Exeter, so, seeing that Dr. Seward keeps his
newspapers, I borrowed the files of 'The Westminster Gazette' and 'The
Pall Mall Gazette' and took them to my room. I remember how much the
'Dailygraph' and 'The Whitby Gazette', of which I had made cuttings,
had helped us to understand the terrible events at Whitby when Count
Dracula landed, so I shall look through the evening papers since then,
and perhaps I shall get some new light. I am not sleepy, and the work
will help to keep me quiet.




DR. SEWARD'S DIARY

30 September.--Mr. Harker arrived at nine o'clock. He got his wife's
wire just before starting. He is uncommonly clever, if one can judge
from his face, and full of energy. If this journal be true, and
judging by one's own wonderful experiences, it must be, he is also a
man of great nerve. That going down to the vault a second time was a
remarkable piece of daring. After reading his account of it I was
prepared to meet a good specimen of manhood, but hardly the quiet,
businesslike gentleman who came here today.


LATER.--After lunch Harker and his wife went back to their own room,
and as I passed a while ago I heard the click of the typewriter. They
are hard at it. Mrs. Harker says that they are knitting together in
chronological order every scrap of evidence they have. Harker has got
the letters between the consignee of the boxes at Whitby and the
carriers in London who took charge of them. He is now reading his
wife's transcript of my diary. I wonder what they make out of it.
Here it is . . .

Strange that it never struck me that the very next house might be the
Count's hiding place! Goodness knows that we had enough clues from
the conduct of the patient Renfield! The bundle of letters relating
to the purchase of the house were with the transcript. Oh, if we had
only had them earlier we might have saved poor Lucy! Stop! That way
madness lies! Harker has gone back, and is again collecting material.
He says that by dinner time they will be able to show a whole
connected narrative. He thinks that in the meantime I should see
Renfield, as hitherto he has been a sort of index to the coming and
going of the Count. I hardly see this yet, but when I get at the
dates I suppose I shall. What a good thing that Mrs. Harker put my
cylinders into type! We never could have found the dates otherwise.

I found Renfield sitting placidly in his room with his hands folded,
smiling benignly. At the moment he seemed as sane as any one I ever
saw. I sat down and talked with him on a lot of subjects, all of
which he treated naturally. He then, of his own accord, spoke of
going home, a subject he has never mentioned to my knowledge during
his sojourn here. In fact, he spoke quite confidently of getting his
discharge at once. I believe that, had I not had the chat with Harker
and read the letters and the dates of his outbursts, I should have
been prepared to sign for him after a brief time of observation. As
it is, I am darkly suspicious. All those out-breaks were in some way
linked with the proximity of the Count. What then does this absolute
content mean? Can it be that his instinct is satisfied as to the
vampire's ultimate triumph? Stay. He is himself zoophagous, and in
his wild ravings outside the chapel door of the deserted house he
always spoke of 'master'. This all seems confirmation of our idea.
However, after a while I came away. My friend is just a little too
sane at present to make it safe to probe him too deep with questions.
He might begin to think, and then . . . So I came away. I mistrust
these quiet moods of of his, so I have given the attendant a hint to
look closely after him, and to have a strait waistcoat ready in case
of need.





JOHNATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL

29 September, in train to London.--When I received Mr. Billington's
courteous message that he would give me any information in his power I
thought it best to go down to Whitby and make, on the spot, such
inquiries as I wanted. It was now my object to trace that horrid
cargo of the Count's to its place in London. Later, we may be able to
deal with it. Billington junior, a nice lad, met me at the station,
and brought me to his father's house, where they had decided that I
must spend the night. They are hospitable, with true Yorkshire
hospitality, give a guest everything and leave him to do as he likes.
They all knew that I was busy, and that my stay was short, and Mr.
Billington had ready in his office all the papers concerning the
consignment of boxes. It gave me almost a turn to see again one of
the letters which I had seen on the Count's table before I knew of his
diabolical plans. Everything had been carefully thought out, and done
systematically and with precision. He seemed to have been prepared
for every obstacle which might be placed by accident in the way of his
intentions being carried out. To use an Americanism, he had 'taken no
chances', and the absolute accuracy with which his instructions were
fulfilled was simply the logical result of his care. I saw the
invoice, and took note of it. 'Fifty cases of common earth, to be used
for experimental purposes'. Also the copy of the letter to Carter
Paterson, and their reply. Of both these I got copies. This was all
the information Mr. Billington could give me, so I went down to the
port and saw the coastguards, the Customs Officers and the harbour
master, who kindly put me in communication with the men who had
actually received the boxes. Their tally was exact with the list, and
they had nothing to add to the simple description 'fifty cases of
common earth', except that the boxes were 'main and mortal heavy', and
that shifting them was dry work. One of them added that it was hard
lines that there wasn't any gentleman 'such like as like yourself,
squire', to show some sort of appreciation of their efforts in a
liquid form. Another put in a rider that the thirst then generated
was such that even the time which had elapsed had not completely
allayed it. Needless to add, I took care before leaving to lift,
forever and adequately, this source of reproach.

30 September.--The station master was good enough to give me a line to
his old companion the station master at King's Cross, so that when I
arrived there in the morning I was able to ask him about the arrival
of the boxes. He, too put me at once in communication with the proper
officials, and I saw that their tally was correct with the original
invoice. The opportunities of acquiring an abnormal thirst had been
here limited. A noble use of them had, however, been made, and again
I was compelled to deal with the result in ex post facto manner.

From thence I went to Carter Paterson's central office, where I met
with the utmost courtesy. They looked up the transaction in their day
book and letter book, and at once telephoned to their King's Cross
office for more details. By good fortune, the men who did the teaming
were waiting for work, and the official at once sent them over,
sending also by one of them the way-bill and all the papers connected
with the delivery of the boxes at Carfax. Here again I found the
tally agreeing exactly. The carriers' men were able to supplement the
paucity of the written words with a few more details. These were, I
shortly found, connected almost solely with the dusty nature of the
job, and the consequent thirst engendered in the operators. On my
affording an opportunity, through the medium of the currency of the
realm, of the allaying, at a later period, this beneficial evil, one
of the men remarked,

"That 'ere 'ouse, guv'nor, is the rummiest I ever was in. Blyme! But
it ain't been touched sence a hundred years. There was dust that
thick in the place that you might have slep' on it without 'urtin' of
yer bones. An' the place was that neglected that yer might 'ave
smelled ole Jerusalem in it. But the old chapel, that took the cike,
that did! Me and my mate, we thort we wouldn't never git out quick
enough. Lor', I wouldn't take less nor a quid a moment to stay there
arter dark."

Having been in the house, I could well believe him, but if he knew
what I know, he would, I think have raised his terms.

Of one thing I am now satisfied. That all those boxes which arrived at
Whitby from Varna in the Demeter were safely deposited in the old
chapel at Carfax. There should be fifty of them there, unless any
have since been removed, as from Dr. Seward's diary I fear.


Later.--Mina and I have worked all day, and we have put all the papers
into order.




MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL

30 September.--I am so glad that I hardly know how to contain myself.
It is, I suppose, the reaction from the haunting fear which I have
had, that this terrible affair and the reopening of his old wound
might act detrimentally on Jonathan. I saw him leave for Whitby with
as brave a face as could, but I was sick with apprehension. The
effort has, however, done him good. He was never so resolute, never
so strong, never so full of volcanic energy, as at present. It is
just as that dear, good Professor Van Helsing said, he is true grit,
and he improves under strain that would kill a weaker nature. He came
back full of life and hope and determination. We have got everything
in order for tonight. I feel myself quite wild with excitement. I
suppose one ought to pity anything so hunted as the Count. That is
just it. This thing is not human, not even a beast. To read Dr.
Seward's account of poor Lucy's death, and what followed, is enough to
dry up the springs of pity in one's heart.


Later.--Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris arrived earlier than we
expected. Dr. Seward was out on business, and had taken Jonathan with
him, so I had to see them. It was to me a painful meeting, for it
brought back all poor dear Lucy's hopes of only a few months ago. Of
course they had heard Lucy speak of me, and it seemed that Dr. Van
Helsing, too, had been quite 'blowing my trumpet', as Mr. Morris
expressed it. Poor fellows, neither of them is aware that I know all
about the proposals they made to Lucy. They did not quite know what
to say or do, as they were ignorant of the amount of my knowledge. So
they had to keep on neutral subjects. However, I thought the matter
over, and came to the conclusion that the best thing I could do would
be to post them on affairs right up to date. I knew from Dr. Seward's
diary that they had been at Lucy's death, her real death, and that I
need not fear to betray any secret before the time. So I told them,
as well as I could, that I had read all the papers and diaries, and
that my husband and I, having typewritten them, had just finished
putting them in order. I gave them each a copy to read in the
library. When Lord Godalming got his and turned it over, it does make
a pretty good pile, he said, "Did you write all this, Mrs. Harker?"

I nodded, and he went on.

"I don't quite see the drift of it, but you people are all so good and
kind, and have been working so earnestly and so energetically, that
all I can do is to accept your ideas blindfold and try to help you. I
have had one lesson already in accepting facts that should make a man
humble to the last hour of his life. Besides, I know you loved my
Lucy . . ."

Here he turned away and covered his face with his hands. I could hear
the tears in his voice. Mr. Morris, with instinctive delicacy, just
laid a hand for a moment on his shoulder, and then walked quietly out
of the room. I suppose there is something in a woman's nature that
makes a man free to break down before her and express his feelings on
the tender or emotional side without feeling it derogatory to his
manhood. For when Lord Godalming found himself alone with me he sat
down on the sofa and gave way utterly and openly. I sat down beside
him and took his hand. I hope he didn't think it forward of me, and
that if he ever thinks of it afterwards he never will have such a
thought. There I wrong him. I know he never will. He is too true a
gentleman. I said to him, for I could see that his heart was
breaking, "I loved dear Lucy, and I know what she was to you, and what
you were to her. She and I were like sisters, and now she is gone,
will you not let me be like a sister to you in your trouble? I know
what sorrows you have had, though I cannot measure the depth of them.
If sympathy and pity can help in your affliction, won't you let me be
of some little service, for Lucy's sake?"

In an instant the poor dear fellow was overwhelmed with grief. It
seemed to me that all that he had of late been suffering in silence
found a vent at once. He grew quite hysterical, and raising his open
hands, beat his palms together in a perfect agony of grief. He stood
up and then sat down again, and the tears rained down his cheeks. I
felt an infinite pity for him, and opened my arms unthinkingly. With
a sob he laid his head on my shoulder and cried like a wearied child,
whilst he shook with emotion.

We women have something of the mother in us that makes us rise above
smaller matters when the mother spirit is invoked. I felt this big
sorrowing man's head resting on me, as though it were that of a baby
that some day may lie on my bosom, and I stroked his hair as though he
were my own child. I never thought at the time how strange it all
was.

After a little bit his sobs ceased, and he raised himself with an
apology, though he made no disguise of his emotion. He told me that
for days and nights past, weary days and sleepless nights, he had been
unable to speak with any one, as a man must speak in his time of
sorrow. There was no woman whose sympathy could be given to him, or
with whom, owing to the terrible circumstance with which his sorrow
was surrounded, he could speak freely.

"I know now how I suffered," he said, as he dried his eyes, "but I do
not know even yet, and none other can ever know, how much your sweet
sympathy has been to me today. I shall know better in time, and
believe me that, though I am not ungrateful now, my gratitude will
grow with my understanding. You will let me be like a brother, will
you not, for all our lives, for dear Lucy's sake?"

"For dear Lucy's sake," I said as we clasped hands. "Ay, and for your
own sake," he added, "for if a man's esteem and gratitude are ever
worth the winning, you have won mine today. If ever the future should
bring to you a time when you need a man's help, believe me, you will
not call in vain. God grant that no such time may ever come to you to
break the sunshine of your life, but if it should ever come, promise
me that you will let me know."

He was so earnest, and his sorrow was so fresh, that I felt it would
comfort him, so I said, "I promise."

As I came along the corridor I saw Mr. Morris looking out of a window.
He turned as he heard my footsteps. "How is Art?" he said. Then
noticing my red eyes, he went on, "Ah, I see you have been comforting
him. Poor old fellow! He needs it. No one but a woman can help a
man when he is in trouble of the heart, and he had no one to comfort
him."

He bore his own trouble so bravely that my heart bled for him. I saw
the manuscript in his hand, and I knew that when he read it he would
realize how much I knew, so I said to him, "I wish I could comfort all
who suffer from the heart. Will you let me be your friend, and will
you come to me for comfort if you need it? You will know later why I
speak."

He saw that I was in earnest, and stooping, took my hand, and raising
it to his lips, kissed it. It seemed but poor comfort to so brave and
unselfish a soul, and impulsively I bent over and kissed him. The
tears rose in his eyes, and there was a momentary choking in his
throat. He said quite calmly, "Little girl, you will never forget
that true hearted kindness, so long as ever you live!" Then he went
into the study to his friend.

"Little girl!" The very words he had used to Lucy, and, oh, but he
proved himself a friend.


[Please take a minute or two to check out my vampire story, The Vampire's Daughter.]