Part 6 (1/2)

IV

In the room upstairs, Mina was preparing for bed. She had little energy to undress, none at all to write in her diary or in the journal still hidden in her traveling cloak. It seemed now that the only journal that mattered was the one she had taken from Dracula's castle. She dug into her traveling bag and slipped it into her pocket, then opened each of the drawers in her bureau. One held her slips and chemises, another corsets and stockings, the others less intimate clothing. All the garments were neatly folded and arranged. It seemed a violation of every ethic she held dear that someone should be paid to do this work for her, yet that would be her life now unless she fought for it to be otherwise.

She didn't have strength to spare for that battle. The fatigue that had plagued her in the last days of their quest had lessened, but still it seemed to surround her like a dense fog m.u.f.fling her emotions, and her ability to concentrate on anything beyond the hour to come. Nonetheless, she had to plan.

There were answers in that journal, she told herself. Her main goal must be to have it translated.

She pulled the bottom drawer out of the bureau and put the journal in the s.p.a.ce beneath it then replaced the drawer. Hardly a secure hiding place but the simplest one for now. With that done, she washed her face and went to bed.

The dreams came. They were expected, for, in the days since she left the vampire's castle, the dreams had always come when she felt most helpless. His form was shrouded by the mist. His face was turned to her, but she could see only his lips, the fangs that were the mark of his terrible curse, and his eyes so filled with need.

Her arms lifted, her lips parted. When he touched her, she moaned with delight.

And, as always, reacted with horror. She cried out in her sleep for him to stop, beat the covers away with her hands. On the train that brought them back to a world of orderly cities and civilized men, Jonathan had always lain beside her, had always awakened and comforted her. Now she fought on her own and, when she woke, he was not with her.

”Jonathan,” she whispered, certain that in all her life she had never felt so totally, so terribly, alone.

The room smelled of rose sachet, a scent she had always a.s.sociated with her youth, with her mother, with an innocence she had lost so suddenly only weeks ago. Loneliness and memories pressed too close, and she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and went into the hall. At the top of the stairs, she halted.

The house was dark except for the light spilling into the foyer through the open parlor door. She smelled the smoke from Jonathan's cigar, heard Millicent speak her name.

She sighed when she heard the woman's voice. Did Millicent ever smile? Ever laugh even when she was young? Mina doubted it.

No, to her Millicent was one of those women who saw life as a trial, her virtue constantly at risk. The heaven Millicent hoped to achieve with this behavior would hardly be any better.

Before her journey with the men, Mina had not been one to eavesdrop, but now she was less certain of herself, less willing to trust that people who cared for her intended the best for her. She descended halfway down the stairs and, in the shadows of the landing, sat listening to their conversation.

” . . . few weeks Chapel has taught me so much,” Millicent was saying. ”And you know how easily I manage things. If Mina is still ill, I could rent out my cottage the way I do my lands and stay on as cook. In the beginning, I could also handle Mina's duties so she can rest and recover. Jonathan, I'm worried about her. She hardly ate and drank nothing but the sherry. She seems so pale and fragile, like an empty gla.s.s.”

The woman had no way of knowing how appropriate the metaphor was, Mina thought, as she listened to Jonathan mumble some agreement.

”I'd like to help you ... both of you in any way I can.” Mina clasped her hands together and closed her eyes. ”Say no, darling,” she whispered. ”Please say no.” Even as she spoke the words, she knew the truth. The woman had raised Jonathan. He could never turn her away.

”She is still weak. Yes, I suppose, if Mina agrees.”

And what could she do but agree? Mina thought. Millicent would see through every excuse she would give for managing the household on her own. Mina would never be forgiven if she demanded that the woman be asked to leave. Millicent was, in her own devious way, far more deadly than Dracula had ever been, because Jonathan loved her.

”And there is the matter of the sherry, Jonathan,” Millicent said sternly. ”You cannot just talk to her. You must be firm with her.

Promise me.”

Mina did not need to hear her husband's reply to know what it had been. Feeling suddenly chilled, she pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders and moved slowly up the stairs, her bare feet making no sound on the thick green carpet.

She had just reached the door to her room when she noticed a growing light on the servants' stairs at the opposite end of the hall.

A moment later, Laura, in a white nightdress, reached the second-floor landing. Mina was lit by the gaslight coming from her room, Laura by the oil lamp she held. Each stared silently at the other.

Laura took a step toward Mina. Mina, alarmed, put a finger to her lips, motioned the girl away and retreated to her room.

She had just returned to the warmth of the bed when Jonathan joined her. He undressed quickly and put on a nights.h.i.+rt, then slipped into bed beside her. She pressed her back close to his chest. The warmth of his body felt delicious, his arms so comforting as he held her. ”Were you sleeping?” he asked.

”Off and on.” She took one of his hands and kissed it. ”I was waiting for you.”

She heard him murmur something in a voice too low to be heard. His hand moved to her breast. She rolled over and faced him, willing herself to be pa.s.sive, to let him take his pleasure while thoughts of the vampire and the pa.s.sion he had aroused in her coursed through her, potent as blood. ”Jonathan,” she whispered and, just for a moment, yielded to the pleasure. Her body tightened. She kissed his chest, pulled his head down to find his lips.

But it was already over as suddenly as it had begun, with no fulfillment for her save in her memories.

She could sleep now that Jonathan was with her, his warmth and presence comforting her. For the first time in days, she did not dream. A new set of problems had replaced the old. The present dispersed the past.

Mina woke with Jonathan the next morning, to see him off on his first day at work as head of the firm. She sat across from him at the small table in the parlor, drinking tea and eating biscuits Millicent had baked for them the night before. She tried to think of something encouraging to say, but every attempt only seemed to make him more insecure.

Following a long silence, he mentioned Millicent's concern about the sherry. ”I couldn't tell her why you needed it and I promised her that I would speak to you. Try to sleep without it and, when you can't, put a bottle in the cabinet here so she doesn't see you drinking it.””Jonathan, you make it sound as if a gla.s.s of sherry is a sickness. Besides, what business is it of hers?”

”My mother ... was very cruel to Aunt Millicent, especially when she drank too much. Millicent tolerated her tirades, most likely because she would not have been allowed to care for me otherwise. Please, don't drink in front of Aunt Millicent any longer.”

He paused to look at her face, her lips pressed together, her eyes soft with sorrow. ”I don't like to speak of what she and I endured,” he said, pulled her to her feet and hugged her tightly. ”We'll banish the past together, I promise you.”

SEVEN

I

Winston Gordon, Lord Gance, liked to compare himself to Lord Byron, the distant uncle who shared his surname. Both were poets, he was fond of a.s.serting publicly, though only his close friends were allowed to read his creations and they made little comment on his skill. His intimate friends were more likely to agree that both were libertines. The similarity ended there. While the poet had been short and somewhat fat, with a sanguine complexion caused by a blend of heredity and drink, Gance was tall and exceedingly pale, with eyes of such a pale gray that they often looked colorless in bright light. In spite of an appet.i.te for food to rival that for s.e.x, he was also slender to the point of emaciation. Only his profile, with its cla.s.sic nose and thin, delicately curled white- blond hair above the receding hairline, and his direct, often insolent, stare, showed the blood tie between the men born nearly a century apart.

In spite of his heritage, Gance was a businessman, not a romantic, and revolutions held little interest for him. Indeed, he was quite committed to the empire, for India, along with sundry investments on the Continent, had made him wealthy beyond the dreams of his ancestors.

His father had been the first n.o.ble to employ the legal services of Peter Hawkins, noting to young Winston that Hawkins had more honesty and skill than the advisors to the Queen. In the years that followed, Hawkins had proven his worth, and Lord Gance saw no reason to abandon a successor who seemed nothing more than a younger duplicate of the scrupulously honest Hawkins himself.

Gance had arrived at Harker's office to sign some papers for the purchase of a winter estate in southern France when he pa.s.sed a young woman coming out of the offices. Though he was certain he had never met her, she seemed startled, almost fearful, when she saw him. She stared at his face a moment too long then modestly looked away. She was pretty, but there was little remarkable about her except her magnificent chestnut hair, which she had tied back somewhat hurriedly it seemed, and her complexion, which was pale enough to rival his own. Then she glanced at him again. Her eyes, he decided, were incredibly beautiful, and her expression managed to be both frank and sad. He was certain some terrible business had brought her here. ”I just pa.s.sed a woman going out,” he commented to Harker's clerk. ”What is her name?”

”Mrs. Harker, sir, Wilhelmina. She and Mr. Harker were married on the Continent only a few months ago,” the clerk replied, the evenness of his expression hiding his distaste. Gance's excesses were well known to anyone who listened to gossip.

”And is Mr. Harker free?”

”He will be in a moment, sir.”

Gance took the time to sit and consider everything he knew about the Harkers. After his business was complete with Jonathan, he asked how Jonathan liked Mr. Hawkins's house.

”It's beautiful, particularly the view of the cathedral and its grounds.”

”We share an appreciation of that. My own estate is just to the north of your home. Since we're neighbors, I'd like to invite you and your bride to a holiday dinner I'm giving on the fourteenth.” Harker knew him well enough that Gance expected him to attempt to decline. Before he could, Gance added, ”It will be a formal affair. A number of your other clients will be attending along with some of our neighbors. I think it would be wise for you both to attend.”