Slave Of Dracula (3 page)

Saw him cross to the window and jerk aside the velvet cur-tains, revealing an ill-fitting casement of tiny
panes, and beyond it-when he pulled it impatiently open-bars.

The young man struck the wall with the hammer of his fist, once, twice, the tired motion of a man who
has pounded that wall, who has confronted those bars, for weeks.

Renfield watched dispassionately, knowing what it was, to pound a wall.

Firelight leaking through the window sparkled on shimmer-ing rain, like an infinity of gold and blood.
The rain fell through fog, and in the darkness the fog coalesced, until it seemed to Renfield that the forms
of three women hung in the air outside the window, their pale dresses and their long hair drifting about
them like seaweed beneath the sea. The young man at the win-dow saw them-Renfield heard the intake
of his breath-but said nothing. Only gazed, like a man hypnotized or under a spell.

It seemed to Renfield that the eyes of all three gleamed red in the darkness, catching the firelight like the
eyes of rats.

Two were dark, the third, luminously fair. They stretched out their arms to the prisoner, and it was the
fair one who spoke, in a voice like crystal tapped with a silver spoon. “Jonathan,” she said, “Jonathan, let
me come to you,” and Renfield noted with interest that the language she spoke was the sweetly musical
German of the south.

He thought wonderingly, They are the Valkyries, just as in the opera. And in his heart the music of
Wagner, god-genius of Bayreuth, stirred like the breathing of the Earth.

They are the Choosers of the Slain. The ones who lay their hands upon the men who will die.

“I am called Nomie, Jonathan. You have only to wish it, and I will come.”

The man Jonathan stood now so close to the bars that his face pressed against them, his hands clutched
the wet iron. He was trembling with terror and desire. “I wish it,” he murmured. “Come.”

A noise, like the crashing of a cannon, boomed and echoed through Renfield’s dream. Jonathan fell
back a pace from the window but did not-maybe could not-turn around to see what might have been

behind him, and Renfield, too, saw only the three women-Valkyrie, Graces, goddesses, or the
fate-weaving Norns-hanging in the whispering dark. One of the dark-haired women screamed a curse in
German, and slowly, flesh and hair and garments dislimned once more into lightless mist. Only for a time
their red eyes remained, glittering in the night like unholy stars.

Jonathan staggered, as if waking from some terrible dream, and whirled. Renfield saw then what he
saw, that the sound had been the chamber’s door, slammed open with stunning violence against the wall.

The doorway was empty. Only darkness lay beyond it.

But the prisoner did not flee. Instead he shrank from the open, empty doorway, his breathing fast with
terror. Though the night was icy, sweat jeweled his face. For a long time he stood, only staring at the
open door, and the thin mist that curled across the flagstones. Then slowly he edged forward, like a man
approach-ing a coiled snake, extended a hand visibly trembling, and with a quick move, slammed his
prison door shut again.

Then he stumbled to the fire and collapsed on his knees on the hearth, his face buried in his hands.

R.M.R.’s notes

21 May

8 flies, 1 spider

22 May

9 flies, 2 spiders

I find my facility of patience and focus increases with practice. There is a knack to trapping a fly, as
much mental and percep-tual as physical. I find myself hampered in my efforts by the abject stupidity of
the attendants here. Like all men of petty in-tellect, they cling to regulations as to spars in the storm which
the world appears, to them, to be. I have explained repeatedly the nature of my mission here, yet the man
Langmore persists in removing the baits I put down, and even in freeing my quarry. Incapable of
perceiving underlying patterns, his system, like those of his fellows, seems capable only of animal fear,
like buf-falo fleeing a thunderclap because they imagine that the release of atmospheric electrical tensions
has something to do with them.

Prune madecoine and beef obtain best results

23 May

10 flies, 4 spiders

24 May

10 flies, 3 spiders

25 May

16 flies, 4 spiders

A long talk with Dr. Seward today. Though I explained my busi-ness to him carefully, I came away
with the impression that he understands nothing. He seems to me a man of good heart but decidedly
mediocre mind. Still, though nearly as rigid-mindedly fearful of change as all the others, he did agree with
my request that the cook include quantities of honey, sugar, and various confitures in my rations here.

***

Letter , R. M. Renfield to his wife

25 May

My beloved Catherine,

Simply the writing of your name raises my spirits, setting be-fore me as it does your lovely face. I must
be brief, for I cannot make the fools here understand my need for paper not only to communicate with
you and our lovely Vixie, but also to pro-ceed with my work. It is a matter I dare not yet take up with
Dr. Seward, the Superintendant, though he and I have begun to come to an understanding regarding the
work itself. I thought, in my conversation with him today, that he appeared downcast.

Rumor among the attendants is that he has suffered a reverse in love. If that is so, my heart goes out to
him in pity. What it would have cost me, my dearest one, had your family prevailed in their opposition to
me, and prevented our union, I cannot bring myself to think.

The dreary rains of spring have ceased at last, and the garden here riots with hyacinth, iris, and the first
sweet roses of sum-mer. From my elevated window I look down on the marshlands beside the river, and
see them gay with wildflowers, spangled with reflected light, and alive with the birds of the air.

I understand the difficulties you are having in getting letters to me here. Better that I should suffer a
pang or two for want of your dear comfort, than that those who seek to keep us apart should learn of
your whereabouts, and so undo all our plans and strivings. Kiss my dearest Vixie for me, and tell her that
her papa shall be with her by and by.

I remain forever,

Your most devoted husband, R. M. Renfield

***

“Lady Clayburne.” Dr. Seward set down the card that had been sent in, got to his feet as Mary showed
his visitors into the office. “Lady Brough.”

The younger of the two, a stylish matron of Mrs. Westenra’s type, extended two kid-gloved fingers
with the air of one who hoped Seward would not actually touch them. The elder, erect and disapproving
in extremely stylish mourning weeds, simply folded her thin hands more tightly around the ebony head of
her cane and regarded Seward with a reflexive and ingrained con-tempt.

“Please sit down.” Seward fetched them both chairs. Lady Brough scrutinized the seat of hers as if to
make sure no one had inadvertently left fresh pig entrails on it, then perched on the edge. Her daughter,
Lady Clayburne, settled a little more firmly, but Seward had the impression that she, like her mother, had
been carefully schooled that no lady ever let her spine touch the back of any chair she sat on, under pain
of death. His aunts and his sister subscribed to that belief as well. “Mary, please bring tea.”

As the housemaid departed, Seward resumed his own seat behind his desk and switched off the
phonograph into which he’d been dictating his notes. “You are here to see Mr. Renfield?” He had not had
the impression, when Ryland Renfield’s family brought him to Rushbrook House, that they were the sort
of people who would remain in London past the fashion-able season for their afflicted relative’s sake.
“I’m sure he will be most gratified to have visitors.”

“We are here to see you, Dr. Seward, not my brother-in-law.” Georgina, Lady Clayburne, folded her
elegantly gloved hands and the permanent grooves of disapproval which bracketed the knife-slit of her
mouth deepened slightly. “I am certain there is little to be gained by an interview with Ryland himself.
How does he here?”

“Much the same as when he was brought in,” answered Sew-ard. “On one occasion only he attempted
to escape, but of-fered no resistance when apprehended.” He cringed inwardly at the memory of that
disastrous dinner-party. At the recollection of how Lucy’s eyes had filled with tears, when he’d knelt to
pro-pose marriage yesterday-had it been only yesterday?-at her mother’s villa of Hillingham. How she
had blushed when he’d asked her, Is there someone else?

Knowing full-well that there was.

“Beyond that, he has been the most cooperative of patients. He occupies his time with trapping
flies-spiders and flies, I should say. Did your sister ever mention his keeping such odd pets?”

“My sister does not hold with pets, Dr. Seward, and never would have them in the house. As for flies, I
am shocked that you permit such a filthy pastime.” She looked around the of-fice as if expecting to see
assorted tumblers and fruit-jars on every windowsill and in every corner, roaring and buzzing with
captives.

Lady Brough added, in a thin harsh voice, “I thought my son-in-law was brought here to restore the
balance of his mind, not to have his crochets indulged.”

“Of course that is so, Lady Brough,” agreed Seward. “But sometimes one cannot discover the key to
madness without ob-serving the tendency of its delusions.”

“Nonsense. My second daughter-Lady Norrington, she is now, and we never thought to make so
respectable a match for her-conceived the notion when she was a girl that she was in danger of
contagious infection whenever she went out of her bedroom, and insisted on remaining there and having
her meals sent up. A few sound whippings broke her of that caprice.” The old lady’s gaze flicked back to
Seward, a bleached and colorless hazel, and cold as stone. “Has my daughter been here to see her
husband?”

“As a physician,” said Seward carefully, “that matter is be-tween my patient and myself.”

“Don’t mouth platitudes, young man,” snapped Her Lady-ship, “as if you were a priest under seal of the
confessional. Nei-ther my daughter Catherine nor my granddaughter Vivienne has been seen by any
member of the family since Ryland’s incarcer-ation, nearly four weeks ago. Catherine, of course, may do
as she chooses. She always has.” There was both contempt and loathing in the old woman’s voice. “But
Georgina and I have a responsibility to Vivienne and we will not be turned aside.”

“It is very like Catherine,” added Lady Clayburne, “to go into hiding in this melodramatic fashion and
leave my mother and myself to deal with this most unpleasant and awkward situ-ation.” Where Lady
Brough’s voice was soft and cold, like the silk of a garrot, her daughter’s had the clang of a headsman’s
ax. “Completely aside from the outrageous fees demanded in this place”-she gestured impatiently around

her-“there is the mat-ter of the funds settled upon Catherine by my late father, money which it was
understood was to be used in ,educating Vivienne and establishing her creditably in the world. This
Catherine–encouraged by her husband-has not done. I blame Ryland en-tirely. What can one expect of
a money-grubbing merchant who’s spent all his life in heathan parts among tradesmen?”

“Catherine was always as bad,” put in Lady Brough, “With her séances and her Theosophical Society
lectures and her An-cient Music.”

“Of course she is, Mama,” agreed Lady Clayburne quickly. “You are quite right. But at least one had
some control over Catherine. But Vivienne-Vixie, she is called in the family-is due for her come-out next
year. The poor child has been raised on a rubbish of philosophers and economists, with the result that
when she does come out, unless something is done to take her education in hand, she will be entirely too
outré to make anything resembling a respectable parti. Catherine should have known better, but of
course neither Mother nor I could ever tell her a thing. Now that Ryland is, thank goodness, out of the
way, Mother and I agreed that it is the perfect opportunity to take that poor child under our wings and
make something of her be-fore it is too late.”

“I see.” Seward reflected that if Lady Brough were his grand-mother, he’d go into hiding, too.

Mary entered with the tea-tray, and dipped a little curtsey to the two ladies as she set it down on the
corner of Seward’s desk. What there was about the tea things that didn’t meet Lady Clay-burne’s
standards, Seward had no idea. Neither the cups nor the saucers were visibly chipped, the
bread-and-butter was fresh, no sugar had been spilled, and the milk was wholesome. But Lady
Clayburne’s thin mouth compressed still further, as Mrs. West-enra’s had when Seward had re-entered
the dining-room the other night in his gray tweeds, and Lady Brough regarded the tea-cup Seward
offered her through her lorgnette for a long mo-ment before, reluctantly, accepting it.

Lady Clayburne demanded, “Has my sister come to see Ryland?”

“It remains a matter between herself and me, as Mr. Ren-field’s physician, but no, she has not.” Quite
possibly, guessed Seward, because Mrs. Renfield suspected that her family would attempt to trace her in
precisely this fashion. But it was curious, he thought, that Renfield had mentioned to him neither wife nor
child. “The girl Vivienne is Mr. Renfield’s only child?”

Lady Clayburne sniffed derisively. “The dear Lord only knows what he got up to in India, all the years
he was there, but Vivi-enne is my sister’s only child.”

“Ryland was married in India.” Lady Brough set her tea aside untasted. “My solicitor, Joseph
Wormidge, has instituted inquiries among the business and Army communities of Calcutta and has found
little against him save his passion for Wagner. Horrible, dreary racket!” Her pale eyes narrowed.
“Nevertheless, the in-quiry is not yet concluded.”

“When his first wife died-I understand she was an invalid for many years-Ryland returned to England to
manage his business from here,” went on Lady Clayburne. “He met Catherine at one of those dreadful
theosophical lectures she was pa-tronizing that year. We did everything in our power, Mother and I, to
keep her from throwing herself away on a tradesman and a man twenty years older than herself into the
bargain. Well!” She took the tiniest sip of her tea, with the air of one making a heroic sacrifice to prevent
her host from killing himself with well-deserved chagrin, and set the cup and saucer firmly aside. So
much for THAT. The bread-and-butter she simply ignored.