Part 6 (2/2)

”Thank you. We ... will do our best. My wife and I recently returned from a trip to Austria. Since her return, she has not been well.”

”All the more reason to buy her a new gown and give her a chance to get out. I'll count on you both.” Gance smiled, genuinely it seemed, and left before Harker could refuse. Harker could, of course, refuse later, but Gance doubted that he would do so. On the walk home, Gance noticed Mrs. Harker going into a dressmaker's shop and stopped to watch her through the window. She moved confidently among the satin and laces, viewed with interest the woman's sketches. Mina Harker knew fas.h.i.+on. She knew what she liked. He decided that she was beautiful. If she had been single, or married longer, he would have managed to meet her now.

Instead, he waited until she had left the shop then went inside. He'd done business with the owner a few times, and she had always done perfect work. Now he drew her aside from her other customers and explained that heirs had just moved into the Hawkins'

house. ”I've invited the Harkers to my house for dinner next Sat.u.r.day. The chestnut-haired woman in the green skirt who just left here is Mrs. Harker. She will need a gown, I think. I suggest that you contact her.”

”And how can I be of service to you, sir?” the seamstress asked.

”By making her look as lovely as possible for her husband's sake. I suggest that you make her a gown of this fabric.” He pointed to the bolt of green velvet, with a color so deep it appeared nearly black.

The woman knew him well enough to understand. ”I will try to convince her,” she said. ”With her coloring, I'm certain she'd look stunning in it.”

Gance tipped her well and went on his way, happy in the thought that he would see Mrs. Harker again and soon.

II

We have been at home nearly two weeks, and I think fondly of the snow that fell in the mountains of Transylvania, of the deep blue skies and marvelous sunsets, Mina wrote in her journal the following night. It is odd to think of that place as beautiful when such tragedy happened there, and yet, after weeks of fog and chilly rain, I would do anything to see the sun. I ordered Laura to clean the parlor and dining room windows and to rehang the velvet draperies to let in more light.

Though Millicent complained that the draperies look strange pulled back so far, it is now possible to read a newspaper in the afternoon without use of the gaslight. I mentioned the savings to Millicent, who only looked at me oddly, as if guessing that she was being placated and not certain how.

As I expected, Jonathan is working a great many extra hours. Having the position as head of the firm fall on his shoulders so suddenly with Mr. Hawkins's death has placed a terrible burden on his conscience. He is terrified of not living up to the firm's reputation, or of making some mistake that will remove all the good fortune that came to us. I tell him that Mr. Hawkins had faith in him for a reason, but it does little good. I wish I could help him, but I know so little about his work that he will not allow it, nor does he have the time to teach me.

She hesitated, then continued on in shorthand.

In spite of her apparent kindness, I find it impossible to be at all comfortable in Millicent's presence. All her affection is centered on Jonathan. With our age and temperament so different, we have nothing in common at all. Nonetheless, she is the only family Jonathan has left, and I will learn to accept her for his .sake.

I have begun to meet some of our neighbors as a result of an invitation to a client's dinner party-a relation to Lord Byron, imagine! It is a formal affair, and Jonathan asked that I have a gown made. I knew no one, but a seamstress whose shop I'd visited had a card delivered to me. I stopped by this afternoon and had a fitting. While I was there, a number of local women came in to place orders or pick up dresses. I spoke to a few of them, and one of them, Winnie Beason, invited me for tea tomorrow afternoon. Mrs. Beason is somewhat older than I, and though her hair is darker than Lucy's, her skin that magnificent shade Jonathan calls Cornish ivory, she reminds me of Lucy. They share that same happy interest in life and an independence that has no respect for petty conventions.

At the dress designer's suggestion, I picked a French design for my gown. It has a sea-green satin blouse and sleeves and a deep green velvet layered skirt, cuffs and collar. She wanted to make a matching evening cape, but I thought the price too extravagant, especially since Jonathan asked me to order three additional gowns, one more formal and two for afternoon wear. I chose cream.

for the formal, pale blue and white for the others. The white is probably too thin for winter wear, but even with the holiday season and the dinner we are giving for Jonathan's staff, I cannot imagine the need for four new gowns in the next few months. I told this to Millicent, certain that she would agree, and she said that socializing was one of my duties-as if a party were some sort of ch.o.r.e to be endured! I think sometimes that she must have had a sad and lonely childhood and wish we could he better friends.

When I went into town yesterday, Jonathan took me to lunch and we laughed with as much joy as we had when he courted me. Last night, I waited eagerly for him to come home, but at dinner, he was as solemn as always. It is what Millicent expects from the little boy she still thinks him to be, and it is what he gives her. I would give anything to hear him laugh so happily in her presence.

As Mina put the diary in the drawer of her dressing table, her eyes focused on the bureau, the place where she had hidden her journal and the book she had taken from Dracula's castle. She opened the door to her room and listened in the hallway. Jonathan was downstairs in the study, working a few extra hours before bed. Millicent had apparently already gone to sleep, for the stairs leading to her room were dark. Mina shut her door carefully and pulled her journal from its hiding place. She slipped into bed and, in the light of a single lamp, began to write hurriedly in shorthand.

I have tried to find a translator for the book I brought back but so far have had no success. Exeter is not the cosmopolitan city that London is, and I hope that, sometime in the future, I can go to London and find the help I need.

Jonathan said that Mr. Harker often had to travel there on business. Perhaps when Jonathan goes, he will take me and I will have a chance to slip away.

I wish I could tell him what I have done and why, but I do not dare. Van Helsing's warnings would make Jonathan uneasy, my doubts even more so. Besides, Jonathan seems to have put the ordeal behind him. I will not be the one to remind him of it.

In a way, I thought I could forget as well. This is the first time I have opened this journal since our return to Exeter, and I do so with some sorrow.

The fainting spell on the boat seems to have been an isolated incident. I've felt no nausea, no recurring fever to signal a pregnancy. As a result, I am nearly certain I am not pregnant, though I am somewhat late. Anxiety can cause that, I have heard, and I've certainly had reason enough to be anxious in the last few months. Still, a child for Jonathan and I would be a respite from what looks to be an endless life of leisurely boredom.. If only I could work as I did before Jonathan and I were married. As it is, between the solicitious Laura and Jonathan's aunt, there is nothing here for me to do.

Now Jonathan is working downstairs and I am alone as always. I find myself longing for those days on the Continent, when we were so close, so caught up in the horror and adventure of the chase. I feel restless, anxious. I think of the pledge I made to Dracula in my dreams. I would follow my - desires, I said. I thought it easy then. It has not been so.

A light knock on the door startled Mina. She softly closed the book and capped the ink, placing both in a drawer. ”Who is it?”

she called when both were out of sight.

”Laura.” The girl cracked the door. ”I saw your light. I was just going to bed and thought you might need something.”

”Nothing, thank you.” Mina blew out the candle and lay back in the bed thinking of Jonathan working in the study below her. As soon as she was certain the girl had gone, she placed the book back in its hiding place and returned to bed, s.h.i.+vering with cold, to wait for Jonathan so she could sleep in peace. The clock in the foyer chimed the hour then the half, and still Mina was alone.

Enough! she thought. Enough. She put on her dressing gown and went downstairs.

The smoke from his cigar drifted into the hallway. His chair was turned so his back was to her, and he seemed to be looking for some reference on the bookshelves that covered the wall behind the desk. She saw a crystal flask full of brandy on his desk, an empty gla.s.s beside it. It looked as if he had had one drink, perhaps two. This was not like Jonathan. She wondered if he had drunk some in an effort to relax.

The pool of light and the door that framed her made her feel small, vulnerable. She took a breath, intending to call his name.

”d.a.m.n it!” he muttered as he pulled a volume from the shelf. He checked the contents and returned it, then reached for another.

Not so certain of her welcome, Mina nonetheless called, ”Jonathan?”

He turned, the momentary irritation at her interruption turning to duty, then welcome. ”Mina. I thought you were sleeping.”

”I . . .” What? she wondered. I thought you were my lover, my husband. I need you beside me. ”I was lonely. I came to see how long you would be.”

”Lonely?” He smiled and reached for her hand, but even as she walked toward him, his focus s.h.i.+fted from her face to the pile of papers on his desk.

Mina bent over, and as she kissed his cheek, she whispered, ”Don't be too late. Exhaustion causes its own mistakes.”

”He died,” Jonathan said, resting his hand palm down on the papers covering his desk. ”He died,” he repeated, and Mina realized that he was a little bit drunk. ”He left me all that was his, and then he died before he could even begin to explain what I had . . .”

Mina recalled clearly the hospital in Budapest where Jonathan had lain raving about wolves and bats and women with fangs. In his fever, he had sounded much like this.”Jonathan!” she said sharply, and as he looked at her with dull surprise, she kissed him. ”Jonathan,” she repeated more softly. ”It will be all right. I know it. How can it be otherwise now that we have gone through so much and survived?”

He did nothing but hold her hand as he sipped the dark amber liquid. She understood that he wanted nothing more than for her to leave.

She would not. Instead she would be bold for his sake. She poured more brandy into the gla.s.s, drank some then pa.s.sed it to him, beginning a silent ritual that continued until the gla.s.s was empty. Standing, she pulled him to his feet, not letting go as she led him through the study with its soft gaslight and up the dark stairs to their room, where a single candle burned. In the doorway, she paused and turned toward him. Illuminated from behind, her body was a warm shadow beneath her thin white nightdress. Thinking only of his need, he followed her as she backed inside.

Her hands reached up and cradled his chin as, on tiptoe, she kissed him. If his mind had been elsewhere, it was on her now and remained there as they tumbled onto the bed. Their fall set the velvet canopy of the bed swaying, its breeze extinguis.h.i.+ng the candle, leaving them alone in the wanton dark.

She kissed him shamelessly, as she had always longed to kiss him, then-more wickedly!-placed his hands where they would pleasure her most. It took little brandy to make Jonathan clumsy. Mina put herself astride him, moving long after he had finished, demanding her own pleasure.

Mina woke in the center of the bed, the quilts wrapped tightly around her. She recalled falling asleep in Jonathan's arms, but that had been hours ago, it seemed. She felt warm and sated and far too tired to wonder where he had gone. She drifted back to sleep as the clock in the foyer struck one, slept on through two and three. When Jonathan finally joined her again, she did not wake, nor did she stir when he left her in the morning. If she dreamed at all that night, she did not remember.

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