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 Un-Dead
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 honor. 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, business-like 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 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 outbreaks 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 and
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
harbor 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
her 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 say 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. |