Mina (10 page)

By the time the train reached
Rotterdam, Mina was once more ill. She could eat nothing, drink only a little
broth. The symptoms frightened her and Jonathan, but Dr. Seward noted the
fever that accompanied them. "It's nothing more than influenza," he
told them, "and not a very serious case."

"We'll
put off crossing the channel until you're better," Jonathan said.

Mina shook
her head. "I'll keep warm. I'll sit inside close to the stove through the
entire crossing."

"Is
that wise?" Jonathan asked Seward.

"I want
to go home," Mina insisted, looking to Seward for support.

"The
boat can hardly be more drafty than the halls on the train," Seward
commented.

They crossed to England during a
downpour. Every window in the steamboat's passenger room was tightly latched.
The wind, blowing relentlessly from the west, carried the engine smoke through
the vents used to provide a draft for the woodstove that gave the only respite
from the frigid North Sea air.

Mina sat
close to the stove, on the end of one long, wooden bench. Jonathan dozed beside
her, his hand holding hers, as if

protecting
her even while he slept. Dr. Seward sat nearby drinking tea with an
acquaintance also making the crossing. Mina's body beneath the fur stole,
thick wool coat and socks and high leather shoes was wet from fever and sweat.
She uncrossed her legs, and the cold draft against her thighs set her to
shivering once more. She controlled it as best she could and looked outside at
the angry gray sea, shrouded in mist.

It reminded her
of Carfax. Of him.

Would she ever be free of his
memory? The thought made her angry. Impatience was no virtue, she reminded
herself. She had time, years to forget, all the years she would share with
Jonathan. Soon they would be home, in the house in Exeter that Mr. Hawkins had
willed to them. There had been so many changes, but none could equal the change
she had already endured.

A pain, born
perhaps of memory, started deep inside her, growing as she focused on it, until
she was doubled over, one fist

clutching her midsection
while the other hand remained in Jonathan's grasp.

When he saw the agony in her
expression, Dr. Seward moved toward her, but she motioned him to remain where
he was. Her stomach was churning and she needed air-that was all the pain
signified. She slowly withdrew her hand from Jonathan's, but as she began to
stand, a dizziness as insistent as the pain made her stumble. She gripped
Jonathan's shoulder for support.

He woke
immediately, his eyes instinctively seeking her, his arm supporting her as she
fell heavily onto the bench. She had been

flushed with fever earlier.
Now her skin was white, her lips almost as pale.

"Mina!"
Jonathan cried.

"I can't breathe," she
said, looking alternately from Jonathan to Dr. Seward to the curious passengers
who had formed a circle around them. She saw something more than a physician's
concern in Seward's expression and thought of what she had read about Lucy's
last days. Her symptoms were far too similar for her to feel anything but
terror.

An older woman stepped forward,
tapped Seward on the shoulder and whispered a few words to him. A moment later,
she helped Mina to walk to the head and latched the door behind them. The room
was even closer than the passenger shelter and reeked of vomit and excrement.
The woman pulled open a porthole then began unbuttoning Mina's Jacket. A wash
of salt spray and a gust of cold air blew against Mina's face. She shivered,
but the fresh air made the pain subside enough that she could manage to loosen
her corset on her own.

"I
suggest you take that thing off and pitch it out the window," the woman
said with a good-natured chuckle.

"I
couldn't," Mina replied, shocked at the suggestion.

"You
haven't told your husband yet, I take it?" the woman commented.

"Told him what?" The woman smiled. "You didn't know
either. It must be your first."

"A
baby?" Mina asked.

"I had six, all of them boys. Believe me, I know the
signs." "Dr. Seward told me I had influenza."

The woman snorted. "I never knew
anyone who learned she was pregnant from a doctor, especially one who would let
a patient cross the Channel with what he believes to be the flu." She
noticed Mina's expression, the shock, the dread. "What's the matter, girl,
don't you want a child?" she asked.

Mina faced
the porthole as she replied, as evenly as she was able, "Oh yes, but not
so soon." When she turned and faced the

woman, her expression was as
serene as it had been on the journey to Varna, her emotions once more perfectly
under control.

She
readjusted her clothing and moved close to the porthole. The spray on her face
felt wonderful, the cold air bracing. Terns

circled the boat. She heard their harsh cries and wished she were
on deck, watching them, feeling the beating of the wind on her body, hearing
the thunder of the waves.

He had controlled even this power,
and now he was gone. Would she be condemned to think of him in times of
ecstasy? Would her nights with Jonathan be marred by the memory of his hands,
his lips and her own surrender? And the child? How could she ever look at the
child and not wonder ...

No, they had
done much but nothing that could have led to conception. The blood in the child
was another matter. If there were a

child. How could anyone be certain so early. She tried to remember
her cycle. If anything, her monthly was not even due yet. "Please don't
say a word about this," she told the woman. "Since we're already
traveling, there's no reason to worry the men."

"Of course. You look much better. Shall we stay here
awhile?" "Please."

A pounding on the door made that
impossible. Mina and the woman went out and sat close to the door talking of
their lives. In the hours that passed, Mina listened to the woman describe the
bookstore she and her husband owned in Cambridge and the constant trials of
dealing with the university students who were often so poor they couldn't help
but become thieves. The conversation was so pleasant that Mina almost forgot
her concerns, remembering them only at the times when she was forced to lie about
their trip and what had preceeded it.

The sea had calmed and the
passengers were on deck when the steamer pulled into Grimsby hours later. The
harbor was filled with sailing ships, both British and Scandinavian, the docks
covered with barrels of halibut, plaice and mussels. The water that covered
the fish, like the sea itself, glowed silver in the soft evening light. Sounds
were muted by the damp, colors faded. Mina sat beside Jonathan, guarding their
bags while Dr. Seward hired a carriage to take them to the train station.

They ate on
the train, saying little to one another. The past that had linked them so
tightly was not one any of them cared to

mention, and their futures were so different. Their good-bye was
too quick to be awkward; then, on a second train, Jonathan and Mina started
for Exeter and home. Mina stared at the dirty tenements, at the ragged urchins
picking clinkers of coal from the ditches at the side of the rails and
contrasted it with the bundled children eating stew in the peasant cottage in
Romania. Progress-how little it gave the poor, how much it took away.

A strange
thought, but fitting. She could already feel the weight of society, its demands
for her future pressing down against her.

She closed the curtain, took
out a book and tried to read.

In the weeks that followed her
arrival at Jonathan's house, Millicent had doggedly learned manners and dress,
hoarding each small fact with the same sullen avidity a miser did his coins.
By the time Jonathan and Mina returned to Exeter, pale and exhausted from
their journey, Millicent had rearranged the kitchen to her liking and hired
Laura-a petite Irish girl with huge shy eyes who rarely raised her voice above
a whisper and obeyed all of Millicent's orders with frightened perfection-to
clean house.

Millicent,
Jonathan and Mina ate dinner together at a small table in the parlor, the gas
heater and candles giving the only light.

When the
meal was finished and Laura had cleared the dishes, Millicent launched into a
lengthy account of all she had learned and her assessment of what the
household needed. "Laura, a cook and a butler. Three could run the house
quite nicely," Millicent said to Jonathan, then looked at Mina, daring the
young bride to contradict her.

Mina had no
intention of doing so. The thought of servants seemed an invasion of privacy,
so the less of them the better. "Do we

need so many?" she
asked. "There are only two of us."

"Mr. Hawkins had four and he rarely entertained. However, Mr.
Chapel does agree with you. He told me that he is getting too old for
full-time duties. He has gone to Wellington to be with his son for the
holidays. After the new year, he would like work here in a part-time capacity
to manage the hired staff when you and Mina entertain."

So there would only be a cook, a
maid and an occasional Mr. Chapel. Mina smiled, grasped her husband's hand and
said, "Aunt Millicent is right, darling. I had learned to type so I could
help you with your work. But that would hardly be appropriate now that you
head the firm. Instead I shall manage the household and be the best possible
wife for you. Now, if you do not mind, I still feel ill and would like to
retire."

"Would
you like some sherry first?" Jonathan asked her. Mina ignored the older
woman's disapproving expression. "Please," she

said softly and took a glass
from her husband. He had filled the stem goblet nearly to the rim, and she
sipped it awhile then carried it

upstairs with her.

"Is
that her custom?" Millicent asked when Mina had gone.

"It
helps her sleep. It was a difficult journey."

"Where
did you go? What did you see?" Millicent, who had never traveled farther
than London, was nonetheless fascinated with

foreign countries.

Jonathan could never explain the horrors they had witnessed, the
things they had done. The memory of the creature that still kept Mina awake at
night for fear of the dreams that would come when she slept was not one he
wished to share. Besides, his aunt was a stolid woman, her feet firmly planted
in a reality that had no place for wolves, gypsies or vampires.

He decided to lie and listed places
he had already been. "Amsterdam. Paris. Zurich. It was primarily a
business trip for Lord Godalming. I thought Mina would enjoy it, but during it
she became quite ill. One of our party died of the same strange fever that affected
her."

"Wine is hardly a cure for illness." "A glass. One
glass to help her sleep." "Was how your mother started, remember? Jonathan,
you are the master of your family. You have to be firm with Mina."

The way his
father had never been. Did Millicent know the pain she caused each time she
reminded him of that past. "Please,

Aunt . . ."

Millicent's
eyes, dark like her grandmother's, flashed with an anger that Jonathan recalled
far too painfully. Her voice was as cool

as ever. "Promise me
that you'll at least speak with her."

His aunt
didn't understand, indeed couldn't, Jonathan thought. Nonetheless, his aunt
might have some reason to worry. "Very

well," he said.
"I'll talk to her tomorrow."

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 muffling 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 space 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 associated 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