Dracula by Bram Stoker(8)

Once again I drew up the blind, whilst Van Helsing
went towards the bed. This time he did not start as he
looked on the poor face with the same awful, waxen
pallor as before. He wore a look of stern sadness and
infinite pity.
‘As I expected,’ he murmured, with that hissing
inspiration of his which meant so much. Without a word
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he went and locked the door, and then began to set out
on the little table the instruments for yet another operation
of transfusion of blood. I had long ago recognized the
necessity, and begun to take off my coat, but he stopped
me with a warning hand. ‘No!’ he said. ‘Today you must
operate. I shall provide. You are weakened already.’ As he
spoke he took off his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeve.
Again the operation. Again the narcotic. Again some
return of colour to the ashy cheeks, and the regular
breathing of healthy sleep. This time I watched whilst Van
Helsing recruited himself and rested.
Presently he took an opportunity of telling Mrs.
Westenra that she must not remove anything from Lucy’s
room without consulting him. That the flowers were of
medicinal value, and that the breathing of their odour was
a part of the system of cure. Then he took over the care of
the case himself, saying that he would watch this night and
the next, and would send me word when to come.
After another hour Lucy waked from her sleep, fresh
and bright and seemingly not much the worse for her

terrible ordeal.
What does it all mean? I am beginning to wonder if my
long habit of life amongst the insane is beginning to tell
upon my own brain.
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LUCY WESTENRA’S DIARY
17 September.—Four days and nights of peace. I am
getting so strong again that I hardly know myself. It is as if
I had passed through some long nightmare, and had just
awakened to see the beautiful sunshine and feel the fresh
air of the morning around me. I have a dim half
remembrance of long, anxious times of waiting and
fearing, darkness in which there was not even the pain of
hope to make present distress more poignant. And then
long spells of oblivion, and the rising back to life as a diver
coming up through a great press of water. Since, however,
Dr. Van Helsing has been with me, all this bad dreaming
seems to have passed away. The noises that used to
frighten me out of my wits, the flapping against the
windows, the distant voices which seemed so close to me,
the harsh sounds that came from I know not where and
commanded me to do I know not what, have all ceased. I
go to bed now without any fear of sleep. I do not even try
to keep awake. I have grown quite fond of the garlic, and
a boxful arrives for me every day from Haarlem. Tonight
Dr. Van Helsing is going away, as he has to be for a day in
Amsterdam. But I need not be watched. I am well enough
to be left alone.
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Thank God for Mother’s sake, and dear Arthur’s, and
for all our friends who have been so kind! I shall not even
feel the change, for last night Dr. Van Helsing slept in his
chair a lot of the time. I found him asleep twice when I
awoke. But I did not fear to go to sleep again, although
the boughs or bats or something flapped almost angrily
against the window panes.
THE PALL MALL GAZETTE 18 September.
THE ESCAPED WOLF PERILOUS ADVENTURE
OF OUR INTERVIEWER
INTERVIEW WITH THE KEEPER IN THE
ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS
After many inquiries and almost as many refusals, and
perpetually using the words ‘PALL MALL GAZETTE’ as
a sort of talisman, I managed to find the keeper of the
section of the Zoological Gardens in which the wolf
department is included. Thomas Bilder lives in one of the
cottages in the enclosure behind the elephant house, and
was just sitting down to his tea when I found him.
Thomas and his wife are hospitable folk, elderly, and
without children, and if the specimen I enjoyed of their
hospitality be of the average kind, their lives must be
pretty comfortable. The keeper would not enter on what
he called business until the supper was over, and we were
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all satisfied. Then when the table was cleared, and he had
lit his pipe, he said,
‘Now, Sir, you can go on and arsk me what you want.
You’ll excoose me refoosin’ to talk of perfeshunal subjucts
afore meals. I gives the wolves and the jackals and the
hyenas in all our section their tea afore I begins to arsk
them questions.’
‘How do you mean, ask them questions?’ I queried,
wishful to get him into a talkative humor.
‘‘Ittin’ of them over the ‘ead with a pole is one way.
Scratchin’ of their ears in another, when gents as is flush
wants a bit of a show-orf to their gals. I don’t so much
mind the fust, the ‘ittin of the pole part afore I chucks in
their dinner, but I waits till they’ve ‘ad their sherry and
kawffee, so to speak, afore I tries on with the ear
scratchin’. Mind you,’ he added philosophically, ‘there’s a
deal of the same nature in us as in them theer animiles.
Here’s you a-comin’ and arskin’ of me questions about my
business, and I that grump-like that only for your
bloomin’ ‘arf-quid I’d ‘a’ seen you blowed fust ‘fore I’d
answer. Not even when you arsked me sarcastic like if I’d
like you to arsk the Superintendent if you might arsk me
questions. Without offence did I tell yer to go to ‘ell?’
‘You did.’
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‘An’ when you said you’d report me for usin’ obscene
language that was ‘ittin’ me over the ‘ead. But the ‘arfquid
made that all right. I weren’t a-goin’ to fight, so I
waited for the food, and did with my ‘owl as the wolves
and lions and tigers does. But, lor’ love yer ‘art, now that
the old ‘ooman has stuck a chunk of her tea-cake in me,
an’ rinsed me out with her bloomin’ old teapot, and I’ve
lit hup, you may scratch my ears for all you’re worth, and
won’t even get a growl out of me. Drive along with your
questions. I know what yer a-comin’ at, that ‘ere escaped
wolf.’
‘Exactly. I want you to give me your view of it. Just
tell me how it happened, and when I know the facts I’ll
get you to say what you consider was the cause of it, and
how you think the whole affair will end.’
‘All right, guv’nor. This ‘ere is about the ‘ole story.
That‘ere wolf what we called Bersicker was one of three
gray ones that came from Norway to Jamrach’s, which we
bought off him four years ago. He was a nice wellbehaved
wolf, that never gave no trouble to talk of. I’m
more surprised at ‘im for wantin’ to get out nor any other
animile in the place. But, there, you can’t trust wolves no
more nor women.’
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‘Don’t you mind him, Sir!’ broke in Mrs. Tom, with a
cheery laugh. ‘‘E’s got mindin’ the animiles so long that
blest if he ain’t like a old wolf ‘isself! But there ain’t no
‘arm in ‘im.’
‘Well, Sir, it was about two hours after feedin’
yesterday when I first hear my disturbance. I was makin’
up a litter in the monkey house for a young puma which
is ill. But when I heard the yelpin’ and ‘owlin’ I kem away
straight. There was Bersicker a-tearin’ like a mad thing at
the bars as if he wanted to get out. There wasn’t much
people about that day, and close at hand was only one
man, a tall, thin chap, with a ‘ook nose and a pointed
beard, with a few white hairs runnin’ through it. He had a
‘ard, cold look and red eyes, and I took a sort of mislike to
him, for it seemed as if it was ‘im as they was hirritated at.
He ‘ad white kid gloves on ‘is ‘ands, and he pointed out
the animiles to me and says, ‘Keeper, these wolves seem
upset at something.’
‘‘Maybe it’s you,’ says I, for I did not like the airs as he
give ‘isself. He didn’t get angry, as I ‘oped he would, but
he smiled a kind of insolent smile, with a mouth full of
white, sharp teeth. ‘Oh no, they wouldn’t like me,’ ‘e
says.
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’ ‘Ow yes, they would,’ says I, a-imitatin’of him.‘They
always like a bone or two to clean their teeth on about tea
time, which you ‘as a bagful.’
‘Well, it was a odd thing, but when the animiles see us
a-talkin’ they lay down, and when I went over to
Bersicker he let me stroke his ears same as ever. That there
man kem over, and blessed but if he didn’t put in his hand
and stroke the old wolf’s ears too!
‘‘Tyke care,’ says I. ‘Bersicker is quick.’
‘‘Never mind,’ he says. I’m used to ‘em!’
‘‘Are you in the business yourself?’ I says, tyking off my
‘at, for a man what trades in wolves, anceterer, is a good
friend to keepers.
‘‘Nom’ says he, ‘not exactly in the business, but I ‘ave
made pets of several.’ and with that he lifts his ‘at as perlite
as a lord, and walks away. Old Bersicker kep’ a-lookin’
arter ‘im till ‘e was out of sight, and then went and lay
down in a corner and wouldn’t come hout the ‘ole
hevening. Well, larst night, so soon as the moon was hup,
the wolves here all began a-‘owling. There warn’t nothing
for them to ‘owl at. There warn’t no one near, except
some one that was evidently a-callin’ a dog somewheres
out back of the gardings in the Park road. Once or twice I
went out to see that all was right, and it was, and then the
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‘owling stopped. Just before twelve o’clock I just took a
look round afore turnin’ in, an’, bust me, but when I kem
opposite to old Bersicker’s cage I see the rails broken and
twisted about and the cage empty. And that’s all I know
for certing.’
‘Did any one else see anything?’
‘One of our gard‘ners was a-comin’ ‘ome about that
time from a ‘armony, when he sees a big gray dog comin’
out through the garding ‘edges. At least, so he says, but I
don’t give much for it myself, for if he did ‘e never said a
word about it to his missis when ‘e got ‘ome, and it was
only after the escape of the wolf was made known, and we
had been up all night a-huntin’ of the Park for Bersicker,
that he remembered seein’ anything. My own belief was
that the ‘armony ‘ad got into his ‘ead.’
‘Now, Mr. Bilder, can you account in any way for the
escape of the wolf?’
‘Well, Sir,’ he said, with a suspicious sort of modesty, ‘I
think I can, but I don’t know as ‘ow you’d be satisfied
with the theory.’
‘Certainly I shall. If a man like you, who knows the
animals from experience, can’t hazard a good guess at any
rate, who is even to try?’
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‘Well then, Sir, I accounts for it this way. It seems to
me that ‘ere wolf escaped—simply because he wanted to
get out.’
From the hearty way that both Thomas and his wife
laughed at the joke I could see that it had done service
before, and that the whole explanation was simply an
elaborate sell. I couldn’t cope in badinage with the worthy
Thomas, but I thought I knew a surer way to his heart, so
I said, ‘Now, Mr. Bilder, we’ll consider that first halfsovereign
worked off, and this brother of his is waiting to
be claimed when you’ve told me what you think will
happen.’
‘Right y‘are, Sir,’ he said briskly. ‘Ye‘ll excoose me, I
know, for a-chaffin’ of ye, but the old woman her winked
at me, which was as much as telling me to go on.’
‘Well, I never!’ said the old lady.
‘My opinion is this. That ‘ere wolf is a‘idin’ of,
somewheres. The gard‘ner wot didn’t remember said he
was a-gallopin’ northward faster than a horse could go, but
I don’t believe him, for, yer see, Sir, wolves don’t gallop
no more nor dogs does, they not bein’ built that way.
Wolves is fine things in a storybook, and I dessay when
they gets in packs and does be chivyin’ somethin’ that’s
more afeared than they is they can make a devil of a noise
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and chop it up, whatever it is. But, Lor’ bless you, in real
life a wolf is only a low creature, not half so clever or bold
as a good dog, and not half a quarter so much fight in ‘im.
This one ain’t been used to fightin’ or even to providin’
for hisself, and more like he’s somewhere round the Park
a’hidin’ an’ a’shiverin’ of, and if he thinks at all, wonderin’
where he is to get his breakfast from. Or maybe he’s got
down some area and is in a coal cellar. My eye, won’t
some cook get a rum start when she sees his green eyes ashinin’
at her out of the dark! If he can’t get food he’s
bound to look for it, and mayhap he may chance to light
on a butcher’s shop in time. If he doesn’t, and some
nursemaid goes out walkin’ or orf with a soldier, leavin’ of
the hinfant in the perambulator—well, then I shouldn’t be
surprised if the census is one babby the less. That’s all.’
I was handing him the half-sovereign, when something
came bobbing up against the window, and Mr. Bilder’s
face doubled its natural length with surprise.
‘God bless me!’ he said. ‘If there ain’t old Bersicker
come back by ‘isself!’
He went to the door and opened it, a most unnecessary
proceeding it seemed to me. I have always thought that a
wild animal never looks so well as when some obstacle of
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pronounced durability is between us. A personal
experience has intensified rather than diminished that idea.
After all, however, there is nothing like custom, for
neither Bilder nor his wife thought any more of the wolf
than I should of a dog. The animal itself was a peaceful
and well-behaved as that father of all picture-wolves, Red
Riding Hood’s quondam friend, whilst moving her
confidence in masquerade.
The whole scene was a unutterable mixture of comedy
and pathos. The wicked wolf that for a half a day had
paralyzed London and set all the children in town
shivering in their shoes, was there in a sort of penitent
mood, and was received and petted like a sort of vulpine
prodigal son. Old Bilder examined him all over with most
tender solicitude, and when he had finished with his
penitent said,
‘There, I knew the poor old chap would get into some
kind of trouble. Didn’t I say it all along? Here’s his head
all cut and full of broken glass. ‘E’s been a-gettin’ over
some bloomin’ wall or other. It’s a shyme that people are
allowed to top their walls with broken bottles. This ‘ere’s
what comes of it. Come along, Bersicker.’
He took the wolf and locked him up in a cage, with a
piece of meat that satisfied, in quantity at any rate, the
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elementary conditions of the fatted calf, and went off to
report.
I came off too, to report the only exclusive information
that is given today regarding the strange escapade at the
Zoo.
DR. SEWARD’S DIARY 17 September.—I was
engaged after dinner in my study posting up my books,
which, through press of other work and the many visits to
Lucy, had fallen sadly into arrear. Suddenly the door was
burst open, and in rushed my patient, with his face
distorted with passion. I was thunderstruck, for such a
thing as a patient getting of his own accord into the
Superintendent’s study is almost unknown.
Without an instant’s notice he made straight at me. He
had a dinner knife in his hand, and as I saw he was
dangerous, I tried to keep the table between us. He was
too quick and too strong for me, however, for before I
could get my balance he had struck at me and cut my left
wrist rather severely.
Before he could strike again, however, I got in my
right hand and he was sprawling on his back on the floor.
My wrist bled freely, and quite a little pool trickled on to
the carpet. I saw that my friend was not intent on further
effort, and occupied myself binding up my wrist, keeping
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a wary eye on the prostrate figure all the time. When the
attendants rushed in, and we turned our attention to him,
his employment positively sickened me. He was lying on
his belly on the floor licking up, like a dog, the blood
which had fallen from my wounded wrist. He was easily
secured, and to my surprise, went with the attendants
quite placidly, simply repeating over and over again, ‘The
blood is the life! The blood is the life!’
I cannot afford to lose blood just at present. I have lost
too much of late for my physical good, and then the
prolonged strain of Lucy’s illness and its horrible phases is
telling on me. I am over excited and weary, and I need
rest, rest, rest. Happily Van Helsing has not summoned
me, so I need not forego my sleep. Tonight I could not
well do without it.
TELEGRAM, VAN HELSING, ANTWERP, TO
SEWARD, CARFAX
(Sent to Carfax, Sussex, as no county given, delivered
late by twenty-two hours.)
17 September.—Do not fail to be at Hilllingham
tonight. If not watching all the time, frequently visit and
see that flowers are as placed, very important, do not fail.
Shall be with you as soon as possible after arrival.
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DR. SEWARD’S DIARY 18 September.—Just off
train to London. The arrival of Van Helsing’s telegram
filled me with dismay. A whole night lost, and I know by
bitter experience what may happen in a night. Of course it
is possible that all may be well, but what may have
happened? Surely there is some horrible doom hanging
over us that every possible accident should thwart us in all
we try to do. I shall take this cylinder with me, and then I
can complete my entry on Lucy’s phonograph.
MEMORANDUM LEFT BY LUCY WESTENRA
17 September, Night.—I write this and leave it to be
seen, so that no one may by any chance get into trouble
through me. This is an exact record of what took place
tonight. I feel I am dying of weakness, and have barely
strength to write, but it must be done if I die in the doing.
I went to bed as usual, taking care that the flowers were
placed as Dr. Van Helsing directed, and soon fell asleep.
I was waked by the flapping at the window, which had
begun after that sleep-walking on the cliff at Whitby when
Mina saved me, and which now I know so well. I was not
afraid, but I did wish that Dr. Seward was in the next
room, as Dr. Van Helsing said he would be, so that I
might have called him. I tried to sleep, but I could not.
Then there came to me the old fear of sleep, and I
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determined to keep awake. Perversely sleep would try to
come then when I did not want it. So, as I feared to be
alone, I opened my door and called out. ‘Is there anybody
there?’ There was no answer. I was afraid to wake mother,
and so closed my door again. Then outside in the
shrubbery I heard a sort of howl like a dog’s, but more
fierce and deeper. I went to the window and looked out,
but could see nothing, except a big bat, which had
evidently been buffeting its wings against the window. So
I went back to bed again, but determined not to go to
sleep. Presently the door opened, and mother looked in.
Seeing by my moving that I was not asleep, she came in
and sat by me. She said to me even more sweetly and
softly than her wont,
‘I was uneasy about you, darling, and came in to see
that you were all right.’
I feared she might catch cold sitting there, and asked
her to come in and sleep with me, so she came into bed,
and lay down beside me. She did not take off her dressing
gown, for she said she would only stay a while and then
go back to her own bed. As she lay there in my arms, and
I in hers the flapping and buffeting came to the window
again. She was startled and a little frightened, and cried
out, ‘What is that?’
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I tried to pacify her, and at last succeeded, and she lay
quiet. But I could hear her poor dear heart still beating
terribly. After a while there was the howl again out in the
shrubbery, and shortly after there was a crash at the
window, and a lot of broken glass was hurled on the floor.
The window blind blew back with the wind that rushed
in, and in the aperture of the broken panes there was the
head of a great, gaunt gray wolf.
Mother cried out in a fright, and struggled up into a
sitting posture, and clutched wildly at anything that would
help her. Amongst other things, she clutched the wreath
of flowers that Dr. Van Helsing insisted on my wearing
round my neck, and tore it away from me. For a second
or two she sat up, pointing at the wolf, and there was a
strange and horrible gurgling in her throat. Then she fell
over, as if struck with lightning, and her head hit my
forehead and made me dizzy for a moment or two.
The room and all round seemed to spin round. I kept
my eyes fixed on the window, but the wolf drew his head
back, and a whole myriad of little specks seems to come
blowing in through the broken window, and wheeling
and circling round like the pillar of dust that travellers
describe when there is a simoon in the desert. I tried to
stir, but there was some spell upon me, and dear Mother’s
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poor body, which seemed to grow cold already, for her
dear heart had ceased to beat, weighed me down, and I
remembered no more for a while.
The time did not seem long, but very, very awful, till I
recovered consciousness again. Somewhere near, a passing
bell was tolling. The dogs all round the neighbourhood
were howling, and in our shrubbery, seemingly just
outside, a nightingale was singing. I was dazed and stupid
with pain and terror and weakness, but the sound of the
nightingale seemed like the voice of my dead mother
come back to comfort me. The sounds seemed to have
awakened the maids, too, for I could hear their bare feet
pattering outside my door. I called to them, and they came
in, and when they saw what had happened, and what it
was that lay over me on the bed, they screamed out. The
wind rushed in through the broken window, and the door
slammed to. They lifted off the body of my dear mother,
and laid her, covered up with a sheet, on the bed after I
had got up. They were all so frightened and nervous that I
directed them to go to the dining room and each have a
glass of wine. The door flew open for an instant and
closed again. The maids shrieked, and then went in a body
to the dining room, and I laid what flowers I had on my
dear mother’s breast. When they were there I remembered
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what Dr. Van Helsing had told me, but I didn’t like to
remove them, and besides, I would have some of the
servants to sit up with me now. I was surprised that the
maids did not come back. I called them, but got no
answer, so I went to the dining room to look for them.
My heart sank when I saw what had happened. They
all four lay helpless on the floor, breathing heavily. The
decanter of sherry was on the table half full, but there was
a queer, acrid smell about. I was suspicious, and examined
the decanter. It smelt of laudanum, and looking on the
sideboard, I found that the bottle which Mother’s doctor
uses for her—oh! did use—was empty. What am I to do?
What am I to do? I am back in the room with Mother. I
cannot leave her, and I am alone, save for the sleeping
servants, whom some one has drugged. Alone with the
dead! I dare not go out, for I can hear the low howl of the
wolf through the broken window.
The air seems full of specks, floating and circling in the
draught from the window, and the lights burn blue and
dim. What am I to do? God shield me from harm this
night! I shall hide this paper in my breast, where they shall
find it when they come to lay me out. My dear mother
gone! It is time that I go too. Goodbye, dear Arthur, if I
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should not survive this night. God keep you, dear, and
God help me!
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Chapter 12
DR. SEWARD’S DIARY
18 September.—I drove at once to Hillingham and
arrived early. Keeping my cab at the gate, I went up the
avenue alone. I knocked gently and rang as quietly as
possible, for I feared to disturb Lucy or her mother, and
hoped to only bring a servant to the door. After a while,
finding no response, I knocked and rang again, still no
answer. I cursed the laziness of the servants that they
should lie abed at such an hour, for it was now ten
o’clock, and so rang and knocked again, but more
impatiently, but still without response. Hitherto I had
blamed only the servants, but now a terrible fear began to
assail me. Was this desolation but another link in the chain
of doom which seemed drawing tight round us? Was it
indeed a house of death to which I had come, too late? I
know that minutes, even seconds of delay, might mean
hours of danger to Lucy, if she had had again one of those
frightful relapses, and I went round the house to try if I
could find by chance an entry anywhere.
I could find no means of ingress. Every window and
door was fastened and locked, and I returned baffled to the
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porch. As I did so, I heard the rapid pit-pat of a swiftly
driven horse’s feet. They stopped at the gate, and a few
seconds later I met Van Helsing running up the avenue.
When he saw me, he gasped out, ‘Then it was you, and
just arrived. How is she? Are we too late? Did you not get
my telegram?’
I answered as quickly and coherently as I could that I
had only got his telegram early in the morning, and had
not a minute in coming here, and that I could not make
any one in the house hear me. He paused and raised his
hat as he said solemnly, ‘Then I fear we are too late. God’s
will be done!’
With his usual recuperative energy, he went on,
‘Come. If there be no way open to get in, we must make
one. Time is all in all to us now.’
We went round to the back of the house, where there
was a kitchen window. The Professor took a small surgical
saw from his case, and handing it to me, pointed to the
iron bars which guarded the window. I attacked them at
once and had very soon cut through three of them. Then
with a long, thin knife we pushed back the fastening of
the sashes and opened the window. I helped the Professor
in, and followed him. There was no one in the kitchen or
in the servants’ rooms, which were close at hand. We tried
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all the rooms as we went along, and in the dining room,
dimly lit by rays of light through the shutters, found four
servant women lying on the floor. There was no need to
think them dead, for their stertorous breathing and the
acrid smell of laudanum in the room left no doubt as to
their condition.
Van Helsing and I looked at each other, and as we
moved away he said, ‘We can attend to them later.’ Then
we ascended to Lucy’s room. For an instant or two we
paused at the door to listen, but there was no sound that
we could hear. With white faces and trembling hands, we
opened the door gently, and entered the room.
How shall I describe what we saw? On the bed lay two
women, Lucy and her mother. The latter lay farthest in,
and she was covered with a white sheet, the edge of which
had been blown back by the drought through the broken
window, showing the drawn, white, face, with a look of
terror fixed upon it. By her side lay Lucy, with face white
and still more drawn. The flowers which had been round
her neck we found upon her mother’s bosom, and her
throat was bare, showing the two little wounds which we
had noticed before, but looking horribly white and
mangled. Without a word the Professor bent over the bed,
his head almost touching poor Lucy’s breast. Then he gave
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a quick turn of his head, as of one who listens, and leaping
to his feet, he cried out to me, ‘It is not yet too late!
Quick! Quick! Bring the brandy!’
I flew downstairs and returned with it, taking care to
smell and taste it, lest it, too, were drugged like the
decanter of sherry which I found on the table. The maids
were still breathing, but more restlessly, and I fancied that
the narcotic was wearing off. I did not stay to make sure,
but returned to Van Helsing. He rubbed the brandy, as on
another occasion, on her lips and gums and on her wrists
and the palms of her hands. He said to me, ‘I can do this,
all that can be at the present. You go wake those maids.
Flick them in the face with a wet towel, and flick them
hard. Make them get heat and fire and a warm bath. This
poor soul is nearly as cold as that beside her. She will need
be heated before we can do anything more.’
I went at once, and found little difficulty in waking
three of the women. The fourth was only a young girl,
and the drug had evidently affected her more strongly so I
lifted her on the sofa and let her sleep.
The others were dazed at first, but as remembrance
came back to them they cried and sobbed in a hysterical
manner. I was stern with them, however, and would not
let them talk. I told them that one life was bad enough to
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lose, and if they delayed they would sacrifice Miss Lucy.
So, sobbing and crying they went about their way, half
clad as they were, and prepared fire and water.
Fortunately, the kitchen and boiler fires were still alive,
and there was no lack of hot water. We got a bath and
carried Lucy out as she was and placed her in it. Whilst we
were busy chafing her limbs there was a knock at the hall
door. One of the maids ran off, hurried on some more
clothes, and opened it. Then she returned and whispered
to us that there was a gentleman who had come with a
message from Mr. Holmwood. I bade her simply tell him
that he must wait, for we could see no one now. She went
away with the message, and, engrossed with our work, I
clean forgot all about him.
I never saw in all my experience the Professor work in
such deadly earnest. I knew, as he knew, that it was a
stand-up fight with death, and in a pause told him so. He
answered me in a way that I did not understand, but with
the sternest look that his face could wear.
‘If that were all, I would stop here where we are now,
and let her fade away into peace, for I see no light in life
over her horizon.’ He went on with his work with, if
possible, renewed and more frenzied vigour.
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Presently we both began to be conscious that the heat
was beginning to be of some effect. Lucy’s heart beat a
trifle more audibly to the stethoscope, and her lungs had a
perceptible movement. Van Helsing’s face almost beamed,
and as we lifted her from the bath and rolled her in a hot
sheet to dry her he said to me, ‘The first gain is ours!
Check to the King!’
We took Lucy into another room, which had by now
been prepared, and laid her in bed and forced a few drops
of brandy down her throat. I noticed that Van Helsing tied
a soft silk handkerchief round her throat. She was still
unconscious, and was quite as bad as, if not worse than,
we had ever seen her.
Van Helsing called in one of the women, and told her
to stay with her and not to take her eyes off her till we
returned, and then beckoned me out of the room.
‘We must consult as to what is to be done,’ he said as
we descended the stairs. In the hall he opened the dining
room door, and we passed in, he closing the door carefully
behind him. The shutters had been opened, but the blinds
were already down, with that obedience to the etiquette
of death which the British woman of the lower classes
always rigidly observes. The room was, therefore, dimly
dark. It was, however, light enough for our purposes. Van
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Helsing’s sternness was somewhat relieved by a look of
perplexity. He was evidently torturing his mind about
something, so I waited for an instant, and he spoke.
‘What are we to do now? Where are we to turn for
help? We must have another transfusion of blood, and that
soon, or that poor girl’s life won’t be worth an hour’s
purchase. You are exhausted already. I am exhausted too. I
fear to trust those women, even if they would have
courage to submit. What are we to do for some one who
will open his veins for her?’
‘What’s the matter with me, anyhow?’
The voice came from the sofa across the room, and its
tones brought relief and joy to my heart, for they were
those of Quincey Morris.
Van Helsing started angrily at the first sound, but his
face softened and a glad look came into his eyes as I cried
out, ‘Quincey Morris!’ and rushed towards him with
outstretched hands.
‘What brought you here?’ I cried as our hands met.
‘I guess Art is the cause.’
He handed me a telegram.—‘Have not heard from
Seward for three days, and am terribly anxious. Cannot
leave. Father still in same condition. Send me word how
Lucy is. Do not delay.—Holmwood.’
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‘I think I came just in the nick of time. You know you
have only to tell me what to do.’
Van Helsing strode forward, and took his hand, looking
him straight in the eyes as he said, ‘A brave man’s blood is
the best thing on this earth when a woman is in trouble.
You’re a man and no mistake. Well, the devil may work
against us for all he’s worth, but God sends us men when
we want them.’
Once again we went through that ghastly operation. I
have not the heart to go through with the details. Lucy
had got a terrible shock and it told on her more than
before, for though plenty of blood went into her veins,
her body did not respond to the treatment as well as on
the other occasions. Her struggle back into life was
something frightful to see and hear. However, the action
of both heart and lungs improved, and Van Helsing made
a sub-cutaneous injection of morphia, as before, and with
good effect. Her faint became a profound slumber. The
Professor watched whilst I went downstairs with Quincey
Morris, and sent one of the maids to pay off one of the
cabmen who were waiting.
I left Quincey lying down after having a glass of wine,
and told the cook to get ready a good breakfast. Then a
thought struck me, and I went back to the room where
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Lucy now was. When I came softly in, I found Van
Helsing with a sheet or two of note paper in his hand. He
had evidently read it, and was thinking it over as he sat
with his hand to his brow. There was a look of grim
satisfaction in his face, as of one who has had a doubt
solved. He handed me the paper saying only, ‘It dropped
from Lucy’s breast when we carried her to the bath.’
When I had read it, I stood looking at the Professor,
and after a pause asked him, ‘In God’s name, what does it
all mean? Was she, or is she, mad, or what sort of horrible
danger is it?’ I was so bewildered that I did not know what
to say more. Van Helsing put out his hand and took the
paper, saying,
‘Do not trouble about it now. Forget it for the present.
You shall know and understand it all in good time, but it
will be later. And now what is it that you came to me to
say?’ This brought me back to fact, and I was all myself
again.
‘I came to speak about the certificate of death. If we do
not act properly and wisely, there may be an inquest, and
that paper would have to be produced. I am in hopes that
we need have no inquest, for if we had it would surely kill
poor Lucy, if nothing else did. I know, and you know,
and the other doctor who attended her knows, that Mrs.
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Westenra had disease of the heart, and we can certify that
she died of it. Let us fill up the certificate at once, and I
shall take it myself to the registrar and go on to the
undertaker.’
‘Good, oh my friend John! Well thought of! Truly Miss
Lucy, if she be sad in the foes that beset her, is at least
happy in the friends that love her. One, two, three, all
open their veins for her, besides one old man. Ah, yes, I
know, friend John. I am not blind! I love you all the more
for it! Now go.’
In the hall I met Quincey Morris, with a telegram for
Arthur telling him that Mrs. Westenra was dead, that Lucy
also had been ill, but was now going on better, and that
Van Helsing and I were with her. I told him where I was
going, and he hurried me out, but as I was going said,
‘When you come back, Jack, may I have two words
with you all to ourselves?’ I nodded in reply and went out.
I found no difficulty about the registration, and arranged
with the local undertaker to come up in the evening to
measure for the coffin and to make arrangements.
When I got back Quincey was waiting for me. I told
him I would see him as soon as I knew about Lucy, and
went up to her room. She was still sleeping, and the
Professor seemingly had not moved from his seat at her
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side. From his putting his finger to his lips, I gathered that
he expected her to wake before long and was afraid of
fore-stalling nature. So I went down to Quincey and took
him into the breakfast room, where the blinds were not
drawn down, and which was a little more cheerful, or
rather less cheerless, than the other rooms.
When we were alone, he said to me, ‘Jack Seward, I
don’t want to shove myself in anywhere where I’ve no
right to be, but this is no ordinary case. You know I loved
that girl and wanted to marry her, but although that’s all
past and gone, I can’t help feeling anxious about her all the
same. What is it that’s wrong with her? The Dutchman,
and a fine old fellow he is, I can see that, said that time
you two came into the room, that you must have another
transfusion of blood, and that both you and he were
exhausted. Now I know well that you medical men speak
in camera, and that a man must not expect to know what
they consult about in private. But this is no common
matter, and whatever it is, I have done my part. Is not that
so?’
‘That’s so,’ I said, and he went on.
‘I take it that both you and Van Helsing had done
already what I did today. Is not that so?’
‘That’s so.’
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‘And I guess Art was in it too. When I saw him four
days ago down at his own place he looked queer. I have
not seen anything pulled down so quick since I was on the
Pampas and had a mare that I was fond of go to grass all in
a night. One of those big bats that they call vampires had
got at her in the night, and what with his gorge and the
vein left open, there wasn’t enough blood in her to let her
stand up, and I had to put a bullet through her as she lay.
Jack, if you may tell me without betraying confidence,
Arthur was the first, is not that so?’
As he spoke the poor fellow looked terribly anxious.
He was in a torture of suspense regarding the woman he
loved, and his utter ignorance of the terrible mystery
which seemed to surround her intensified his pain. His
very heart was bleeding, and it took all the manhood of
him, and there was a royal lot of it, too, to keep him from
breaking down. I paused before answering, for I felt that I
must not betray anything which the Professor wished kept
secret, but already he knew so much, and guessed so
much, that there could be no reason for not answering, so
I answered in the same phrase.
‘That’s so.’
‘And how long has this been going on?’
‘About ten days.’
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‘Ten days! Then I guess, Jack Seward, that that poor
pretty creature that we all love has had put into her veins
within that time the blood of four strong men. Man alive,
her whole body wouldn’t hold it.’ Then coming close to
me, he spoke in a fierce half-whisper. ‘What took it out?’
I shook my head. ‘That,’ I said, ‘is the crux. Van
Helsing is simply frantic about it, and I am at my wits’
end. I can’t even hazard a guess. There has been a series of
little circumstances which have thrown out all our
calculations as to Lucy being properly watched. But these
shall not occur again. Here we stay until all be well, or ill.’
Quincey held out his hand. ‘Count me in,’ he said.
‘You and the Dutchman will tell me what to do, and I’ll
do it.’
When she woke late in the afternoon, Lucy’s first
movement was to feel in her breast, and to my surprise,
produced the paper which Van Helsing had given me to
read. The careful Professor had replaced it where it had
come from, lest on waking she should be alarmed. Her
eyes then lit on Van Helsing and on me too, and
gladdened. Then she looked round the room, and seeing
where she was, shuddered. She gave a loud cry, and put
her poor thin hands before her pale face.
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We both understood what was meant, that she had
realized to the full her mother’s death. So we tried what
we could to comfort her. Doubtless sympathy eased her
somewhat, but she was very low in thought and spirit, and
wept silently and weakly for a long time. We told her that
either or both of us would now remain with her all the
time, and that seemed to comfort her. Towards dusk she
fell into a doze. Here a very odd thing occurred. Whilst
still asleep she took the paper from her breast and tore it in
two. Van Helsing stepped over and took the pieces from
her. All the same, however, she went on with the action
of tearing, as though the material were still in her hands.
Finally she lifted her hands and opened them as though
scattering the fragments. Van Helsing seemed surprised,
and his brows gathered as if in thought, but he said
nothing.
19 September.—All last night she slept fitfully, being
always afraid to sleep, and something weaker when she
woke from it. The Professor and I took in turns to watch,
and we never left her for a moment unattended. Quincey
Morris said nothing about his intention, but I knew that
all night long he patrolled round and round the house.
When the day came, its searching light showed the
ravages in poor Lucy’s strength. She was hardly able to
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turn her head, and the little nourishment which she could
take seemed to do her no good. At times she slept, and
both Van Helsing and I noticed the difference in her,
between sleeping and waking. Whilst asleep she looked
stronger, although more haggard, and her breathing was
softer. Her open mouth showed the pale gums drawn back
from the teeth, which looked positively longer and sharper
than usual. When she woke the softness of her eyes
evidently changed the expression, for she looked her own
self, although a dying one. In the afternoon she asked for
Arthur, and we telegraphed for him. Quincey went off to
meet him at the station.
When he arrived it was nearly six o’clock, and the sun
was setting full and warm, and the red light streamed in
through the window and gave more colour to the pale
cheeks. When he saw her, Arthur was simply choking
with emotion, and none of us could speak. In the hours
that had passed, the fits of sleep, or the comatose condition
that passed for it, had grown more frequent, so that the
pauses when conversation was possible were shortened.
Arthur’s presence, however, seemed to act as a stimulant.
She rallied a little, and spoke to him more brightly than
she had done since we arrived. He too pulled himself
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together, and spoke as cheerily as he could, so that the best
was made of everything.
It is now nearly one o’clock, and he and Van Helsing
are sitting with her. I am to relieve them in a quarter of an
hour, and I am entering this on Lucy’s phonograph. Until
six o’clock they are to try to rest. I fear that tomorrow will
end our watching, for the shock has been too great. The
poor child cannot rally. God help us all.
LETTER MINA HARKER TO LUCY
WESTENRA
(Unopened by her)
17 September
My dearest Lucy,
‘It seems an age since I heard from you, or indeed since
I wrote. You will pardon me, I know, for all my faults
when you have read all my budget of news. Well, I got
my husband back all right. When we arrived at Exeter
there was a carriage waiting for us, and in it, though he
had an attack of gout, Mr. Hawkins. He took us to his
house, where there were rooms for us all nice and
comfortable, and we dined together. After dinner Mr.
Hawkins said,
’ ‘My dears, I want to drink your health and prosperity,
and may every blessing attend you both. I know you both
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from children, and have, with love and pride, seen you
grow up. Now I want you to make your home here with
me. I have left to me neither chick nor child. All are gone,
and in my will I have left you everything.’ I cried, Lucy
dear, as Jonathan and the old man clasped hands. Our
evening was a very, very happy one.
‘So here we are, installed in this beautiful old house,
and from both my bedroom and the drawing room I can
see the great elms of the cathedral close, with their great
black stems standing out against the old yellow stone of
the cathedral, and I can hear the rooks overhead cawing
and cawing and chattering and chattering and gossiping all
day, after the manner of rooks—and humans. I am busy, I
need not tell you, arranging things and housekeeping.
Jonathan and Mr. Hawkins are busy all day, for now that
Jonathan is a partner, Mr. Hawkins wants to tell him all
about the clients.
‘How is your dear mother getting on? I wish I could
run up to town for a day or two to see you, dear, but I,
dare not go yet, with so much on my shoulders, and
Jonathan wants looking after still. He is beginning to put
some flesh on his bones again, but he was terribly
weakened by the long illness. Even now he sometimes
starts out of his sleep in a sudden way and awakes all
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trembling until I can coax him back to his usual placidity.
However, thank God, these occasions grow less frequent
as the days go on, and they will in time pass away
altogether, I trust. And now I have told you my news, let
me ask yours. When are you to be married, and where,
and who is to perform the ceremony, and what are you to
wear, and is it to be a public or private wedding? Tell me
all about it, dear, tell me all about everything, for there is
nothing which interests you which will not be dear to me.
Jonathan asks me to send his ‘respectful duty’, but I do not
think that is good enough from the junior partner of the
important firm Hawkins & Harker. And so, as you love
me, and he loves me, and I love you with all the moods
and tenses of the verb, I send you simply his ‘love’ instead.
Goodbye, my dearest Lucy, and blessings on you.’ Yours,
Mina Harker
REPORT FROM PATRICK HENNESSEY, MD,
MRCSLK, QCPI, ETC, ETC, TO JOHN SEWARD,
MD
20 September
My dear Sir:
‘In accordance with your wishes, I enclose report of the
conditions of everything left in my charge. With regard to
patient, Renfield, there is more to say. He has had another
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outbreak, which might have had a dreadful ending, but
which, as it fortunately happened, was unattended with
any unhappy results. This afternoon a carrier’s cart with
two men made a call at the empty house whose grounds
abut on ours, the house to which, you will remember, the
patient twice ran away. The men stopped at our gate to
ask the porter their way, as they were strangers.
‘I was myself looking out of the study window, having
a smoke after dinner, and saw one of them come up to the
house. As he passed the window of Renfield’s room, the
patient began to rate him from within, and called him all
the foul names he could lay his tongue to. The man, who
seemed a decent fellow enough, contented himself by
telling him to ‘shut up for a foul-mouthed beggar’,
whereon our man accused him of robbing him and
wanting to murder him and said that he would hinder him
if he were to swing for it. I opened the window and
signed to the man not to notice, so he contented himself
after looking the place over and making up his mind as to
what kind of place he had got to by saying, ‘Lor’ bless yer,
sir, I wouldn’t mind what was said to me in a bloomin’
madhouse. I pity ye and the guv’nor for havin’ to live in
the house with a wild beast like that.’
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‘Then he asked his way civilly enough, and I told him
where the gate of the empty house was. He went away
followed by threats and curses and revilings from our man.
I went down to see if I could make out any cause for his
anger, since he is usually such a well-behaved man, and
except his violent fits nothing of the kind had ever
occurred. I found him, to my astonishment, quite
composed and most genial in his manner. I tried to get
him to talk of the incident, but he blandly asked me
questions as to what I meant, and led me to believe that he
was completely oblivious of the affair. It was, I am sorry to
say, however, only another instance of his cunning, for
within half an hour I heard of him again. This time he had
broken out through the window of his room, and was
running down the avenue. I called to the attendants to
follow me, and ran after him, for I feared he was intent on
some mischief. My fear was justified when I saw the same
cart which had passed before coming down the road,
having on it some great wooden boxes. The men were
wiping their foreheads, and were flushed in the face, as if
with violent exercise. Before I could get up to him, the
patient rushed at them, and pulling one of them off the
cart, began to knock his head against the ground. If I had
not seized him just at the moment, I believe he would
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have killed the man there and then. The other fellow
jumped down and struck him over the head with the butt
end of his heavy whip. It was a horrible blow, but he did
not seem to mind it, but seized him also, and struggled
with the three of us, pulling us to and fro as if we were
kittens. You know I am no lightweight, and the others
were both burly men. At first he was silent in his fighting,
but as we began to master him, and the attendants were
putting a strait waistcoat on him, he began to shout, ‘I’ll
frustrate them! They shan’t rob me! They shan’t murder
me by inches! I’ll fight for my Lord and Master!’ and all
sorts of similar incoherent ravings. It was with very
considerable difficulty that they got him back to the house
and put him in the padded room. One of the attendants,
Hardy, had a finger broken. However, I set it all right, and
he is going on well.
‘The two carriers were at first loud in their threats of
actions for damages, and promised to rain all the penalties
of the law on us. Their threats were, however, mingled
with some sort of indirect apology for the defeat of the
two of them by a feeble madman. They said that if it had
not been for the way their strength had been spent in
carrying and raising the heavy boxes to the cart they
would have made short work of him. They gave as
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another reason for their defeat the extraordinary state of
drouth to which they had been reduced by the dusty
nature of their occupation and the reprehensible distance
from the scene of their labors of any place of public
entertainment. I quite understood their drift, and after a
stiff glass of strong grog, or rather more of the same, and
with each a sovereign in hand, they made light of the
attack, and swore that they would encounter a worse
madman any day for the pleasure of meeting so ‘bloomin’
good a bloke’ as your correspondent. I took their names
and addresses, in case they might be needed. They are as
follows: Jack Smollet, of Dudding’s Rents, King George’s
Road, Great Walworth, and Thomas Snelling, Peter
Farley’s Row, Guide Court, Bethnal Green. They are
both in the employment of Harris & Sons, Moving and
Shipment Company, Orange Master’s Yard, Soho.
‘I shall report to you any matter of interest occurring
here, and shall wire you at once if there is anything of
importance.
‘Believe me, dear Sir,
‘Yours faithfully,
‘Patrick Hennessey.’
LETTER, MINA HARKER TO LUCY
WESTENRA (Unopened by her)
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18 September
‘My dearest Lucy,
‘Such a sad blow has befallen us. Mr. Hawkins has died
very suddenly. Some may not think it so sad for us, but
we had both come to so love him that it really seems as
though we had lost a father. I never knew either father or
mother, so that the dear old man’s death is a real blow to
me. Jonathan is greatly distressed. It is not only that he
feels sorrow, deep sorrow, for the dear, good man who has
befriended him all his life, and now at the end has treated
him like his own son and left him a fortune which to
people of our modest bringing up is wealth beyond the
dream of avarice, but Jonathan feels it on another account.
He says the amount of responsibility which it puts upon
him makes him nervous. He begins to doubt himself. I try
to cheer him up, and my belief in him helps him to have a
belief in himself. But it is here that the grave shock that he
experienced tells upon him the most. Oh, it is too hard
that a sweet, simple, noble, strong nature such as his, a
nature which enabled him by our dear, good friend’s aid
to rise from clerk to master in a few years, should be so
injured that the very essence of its strength is gone.
Forgive me, dear, if I worry you with my troubles in the
midst of your own happiness, but Lucy dear, I must tell
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someone, for the strain of keeping up a brave and cheerful
appearance to Jonathan tries me, and I have no one here
that I can confide in. I dread coming up to London, as we
must do that day after tomorrow, for poor Mr. Hawkins
left in his will that he was to be buried in the grave with
his father. As there are no relations at all, Jonathan will
have to be chief mourner. I shall try to run over to see
you, dearest, if only for a few minutes. Forgive me for
troubling you. With all blessings,
‘Your loving
Mina Harker.’
DR. SEWARD’S DIARY
20 September.—Only resolution and habit can let me
make an entry tonight. I am too miserable, too low
spirited, too sick of the world and all in it, including life
itself, that I would not care if I heard this moment the
flapping of the wings of the angel of death. And he has
been flapping those grim wings to some purpose of late,
Lucy’s mother and Arthur’s father, and now … Let me get
on with my work.
I duly relieved Van Helsing in his watch over Lucy.
We wanted Arthur to go to rest also, but he refused at
first. It was only when I told him that we should want him
to help us during the day, and that we must not all break
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down for want of rest, lest Lucy should suffer, that he
agreed to go.
Van Helsing was very kind to him. ‘Come, my child,’
he said. ‘Come with me. You are sick and weak, and have
had much sorrow and much mental pain, as well as that
tax on your strength that we know of. You must not be
alone, for to be alone is to be full of fears and alarms.
Come to the drawing room, where there is a big fire, and
there are two sofas. You shall lie on one, and I on the
other, and our sympathy will be comfort to each other,
even though we do not speak, and even if we sleep.’
Arthur went off with him, casting back a longing look
on Lucy’s face, which lay in her pillow, almost whiter
than the lawn. She lay quite still, and I looked around the
room to see that all was as it should be. I could see that the
Professor had carried out in this room, as in the other, his
purpose of using the garlic. The whole of the window
sashes reeked with it, and round Lucy’s neck, over the silk
handkerchief which Van Helsing made her keep on, was a
rough chaplet of the same odorous flowers.
Lucy was breathing somewhat stertorously, and her face
was at its worst, for the open mouth showed the pale
gums. Her teeth, in the dim, uncertain light, seemed
longer and sharper than they had been in the morning. In
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particular, by some trick of the light, the canine teeth
looked longer and sharper than the rest.
I sat down beside her, and presently she moved
uneasily. At the same moment there came a sort of dull
flapping or buffeting at the window. I went over to it
softly, and peeped out by the corner of the blind. There
was a full moonlight, and I could see that the noise was
made by a great bat, which wheeled around, doubtless
attracted by the light, although so dim, and every now and
again struck the window with its wings. When I came
back to my seat, I found that Lucy had moved slightly, and
had torn away the garlic flowers from her throat. I
replaced them as well as I could, and sat watching her.
Presently she woke, and I gave her food, as Van
Helsing had prescribed. She took but a little, and that
languidly. There did not seem to be with her now the
unconscious struggle for life and strength that had hitherto
so marked her illness. It struck me as curious that the
moment she became conscious she pressed the garlic
flowers close to her. It was certainly odd that whenever
she got into that lethargic state, with the stertorous
breathing, she put the flowers from her, but that when she
waked she clutched them close, There was no possibility
of making any mistake about this, for in the long hours
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that followed, she had many spells of sleeping and waking
and repeated both actions many times.
At six o’clock Van Helsing came to relieve me. Arthur
had then fallen into a doze, and he mercifully let him sleep
on. When he saw Lucy’s face I could hear the hissing
indraw of breath, and he said to me in a sharp whisper.
‘Draw up the blind. I want light!’ Then he bent down,
and, with his face almost touching Lucy’s, examined her
carefully. He removed the flowers and lifted the silk
handkerchief from her throat. As he did so he started back
and I could hear his ejaculation, ‘Mein Gott!’ as it was
smothered in his throat. I bent over and looked, too, and
as I noticed some queer chill came over me. The wounds
on the throat had absolutely disappeared.
For fully five minutes Van Helsing stood looking at
her, with his face at its sternest. Then he turned to me and
said calmly, ‘She is dying. It will not be long now. It will
be much difference, mark me, whether she dies conscious
or in her sleep. Wake that poor boy, and let him come
and see the last. He trusts us, and we have promised him.’
I went to the dining room and waked him. He was
dazed for a moment, but when he saw the sunlight
streaming in through the edges of the shutters he thought
he was late, and expressed his fear. I assured him that Lucy
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was still asleep, but told him as gently as I could that both
Van Helsing and I feared that the end was near. He
covered his face with his hands, and slid down on his
knees by the sofa, where he remained, perhaps a minute,
with his head buried, praying, whilst his shoulders shook
with grief. I took him by the hand and raised him up.
‘Come,’ I said, ‘my dear old fellow, summon all your
fortitude. It will be best and easiest for her.’
When we came into Lucy’s room I could see that Van
Helsing had, with his usual forethought, been putting
matters straight and making everything look as pleasing as
possible. He had even brushed Lucy’s hair, so that it lay on
the pillow in its usual sunny ripples. When we came into
the room she opened her eyes, and seeing him, whispered
softly, ‘Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have
come!’