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CHAPTER 17. DR. SEWARD'S DIARY--cont.
When we arrived at the Berkely Hotel, Van Helsing found a telegram waiting for him.
"Am coming up by train. Jonathan at Whitby.
Important news.
Mina Harker." The Professor was delighted.
"Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina," he said, "pearl among women!
She arrive, but I cannot stay.
She must go to your house, friend John. You must meet her at the station.
Telegraph her en route so that she may be prepared."
When the wire was dispatched he had a cup of tea.
Over it he told me of a diary kept by Jonathan Harker when abroad, and gave me a
typewritten copy of it, as also of Mrs. Harker's diary at Whitby.
"Take these," he said, "and study them well.
When I have returned you will be master of all the facts, and we can then better enter
on our inquisition.
Keep them safe, for there is in them much of treasure.
You will need all your faith, even you who have had such an experience as that of
today.
What is here told," he laid his hand heavily and gravely on the packet of papers
as he spoke, "may be the beginning of the end to you and me and many another, or it
may sound the knell of the UnDead who walk the earth.
Read all, I pray you, with the open mind, and if you can add in any way to the story
here told do so, for it is all important.
You have kept a diary of all these so strange things, is it not so?
Yes! Then we shall go through all these together
when we meet."
He then made ready for his departure and shortly drove off to Liverpool Street.
I took my way to Paddington, where I arrived about fifteen minutes before the
train came in.
The crowd melted away, after the bustling fashion common to arrival platforms, and I
was beginning to feel uneasy, lest I might miss my guest, when a sweet-faced, dainty
looking girl stepped up to me, and after a quick glance said, "Dr. Seward, is it not?"
"And you are Mrs. Harker!" I answered at once, whereupon she held out
her hand.
"I knew you from the description of poor dear Lucy, but..."
She stopped suddenly, and a quick blush overspread her face.
The blush that rose to my own cheeks somehow set us both at ease, for it was a
tacit answer to her own.
I got her luggage, which included a typewriter, and we took the Underground to
Fenchurch Street, after I had sent a wire to my housekeeper to have a sitting room
and a bedroom prepared at once for Mrs. Harker.
In due time we arrived.
She knew, of course, that the place was a lunatic asylum, but I could see that she
was unable to repress a shudder when we entered.
She told me that, if she might, she would come presently to my study, as she had much
to say. So here I am finishing my entry in my
phonograph diary whilst I await her.
As yet I have not had the chance of looking at the papers which Van Helsing left with
me, though they lie open before me.
I must get her interested in something, so that I may have an opportunity of reading
them. She does not know how precious time is, or
what a task we have in hand.
I must be careful not to frighten her. Here she is!
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL 29 September.--After I had tidied myself,
I went down to Dr. Seward's study. At the door I paused a moment, for I
thought I heard him talking with some one.
As, however, he had pressed me to be quick, I knocked at the door, and on his calling
out, "Come in," I entered. To my intense surprise, there was no one
with him.
He was quite alone, and on the table opposite him was what I knew at once from
the description to be a phonograph. I had never seen one, and was much
interested.
"I hope I did not keep you waiting," I said, "but I stayed at the door as I heard
you talking, and thought there was someone with you."
"Oh," he replied with a smile, "I was only entering my diary."
"Your diary?" I asked him in surprise.
"Yes," he answered.
"I keep it in this." As he spoke he laid his hand on the
phonograph. I felt quite excited over it, and blurted
out, "Why, this beats even shorthand!
May I hear it say something?" "Certainly," he replied with alacrity, and
stood up to put it in train for speaking. Then he paused, and a troubled look
overspread his face.
"The fact is," he began awkwardly, "I only keep my diary in it, and as it is entirely,
almost entirely, about my cases it may be awkward, that is, I mean..."
He stopped, and I tried to help him out of his embarrassment.
"You helped to attend dear Lucy at the end. Let me hear how she died, for all that I
know of her, I shall be very grateful.
She was very, very dear to me." To my surprise, he answered, with a
horrorstruck look in his face, "Tell you of her death?
Not for the wide world!"
"Why not?" I asked, for some grave, terrible feeling
was coming over me. Again he paused, and I could see that he
was trying to invent an excuse.
At length, he stammered out, "You see, I do not know how to pick out any particular
part of the diary."
Even while he was speaking an idea dawned upon him, and he said with unconscious
simplicity, in a different voice, and with the naivete of a child, "that's quite true,
upon my honour.
Honest Indian!" I could not but smile, at which he
grimaced. "I gave myself away that time!" he said.
"But do you know that, although I have kept the diary for months past, it never once
struck me how I was going to find any particular part of it in case I wanted to
look it up?"
By this time my mind was made up that the diary of a doctor who attended Lucy might
have something to add to the sum of our knowledge of that terrible Being, and I
said boldly, "Then, Dr. Seward, you had
better let me copy it out for you on my typewriter."
He grew to a positively deathly pallor as he said, "No! No! No! For all the world.
I wouldn't let you know that terrible story!"
Then it was terrible. My intuition was right!
For a moment, I thought, and as my eyes ranged the room, unconsciously looking for
something or some opportunity to aid me, they lit on a great batch of typewriting on
the table.
His eyes caught the look in mine, and without his thinking, followed their
direction. As they saw the parcel he realized my
meaning.
"You do not know me," I said. "When you have read those papers, my own
diary and my husband's also, which I have typed, you will know me better.
I have not faltered in giving every thought of my own heart in this cause.
But, of course, you do not know me, yet, and I must not expect you to trust me so
far."
He is certainly a man of noble nature. Poor dear Lucy was right about him.
He stood up and opened a large drawer, in which were arranged in order a number of
hollow cylinders of metal covered with dark wax, and said,
"You are quite right.
I did not trust you because I did not know you.
But I know you now, and let me say that I should have known you long ago.
I know that Lucy told you of me.
She told me of you too. May I make the only atonement in my power?
Take the cylinders and hear them. The first half-dozen of them are personal
to me, and they will not horrify you.
Then you will know me better. Dinner will by then be ready.
In the meantime I shall read over some of these documents, and shall be better able
to understand certain things."
He carried the phonograph himself up to my sitting room and adjusted it for me.
Now I shall learn something pleasant, I am sure.
For it will tell me the other side of a true love episode of which I know one side
already.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY 29 September.--I was so absorbed in that
wonderful diary of Jonathan Harker and that other of his wife that I let the time run
on without thinking.
Mrs. Harker was not down when the maid came to announce dinner, so I said, "She is
possibly tired. Let dinner wait an hour," and I went on
with my work.
I had just finished Mrs. Harker's diary, when she came in.
She looked sweetly pretty, but very sad, and her eyes were flushed with crying.
This somehow moved me much.
Of late I have had cause for tears, God knows!
But the relief of them was denied me, and now the sight of those sweet eyes,
brightened by recent tears, went straight to my heart.
So I said as gently as I could, "I greatly fear I have distressed you."
"Oh, no, not distressed me," she replied. "But I have been more touched than I can
say by your grief.
That is a wonderful machine, but it is cruelly true.
It told me, in its very tones, the anguish of your heart.
It was like a soul crying out to Almighty God.
No one must hear them spoken ever again! See, I have tried to be useful.
I have copied out the words on my typewriter, and none other need now hear
your heart beat, as I did." "No one need ever know, shall ever know,"
I said in a low voice.
She laid her hand on mine and said very gravely, "Ah, but they must!"
"Must! But why?"
I asked.
"Because it is a part of the terrible story, a part of poor Lucy's death and all
that led to it.
Because in the struggle which we have before us to rid the earth of this terrible
monster we must have all the knowledge and all the help which we can get.
I think that the cylinders which you gave me contained more than you intended me to
know. But I can see that there are in your record
many lights to this dark mystery.
You will let me help, will you not?
I know all up to a certain point, and I see already, though your diary only took me to
7 September, how poor Lucy was beset, and how her terrible doom was being wrought
out.
Jonathan and I have been working day and night since Professor Van Helsing saw us.
He is gone to Whitby to get more information, and he will be here tomorrow
to help us.
We need have no secrets amongst us. Working together and with absolute trust,
we can surely be stronger than if some of us were in the dark."
She looked at me so appealingly, and at the same time manifested such courage and
resolution in her bearing, that I gave in at once to her wishes.
"You shall," I said, "do as you like in the matter.
God forgive me if I do wrong!
There are terrible things yet to learn of, but if you have so far traveled on the road
to poor Lucy's death, you will not be content, I know, to remain in the dark.
Nay, the end, the very end, may give you a gleam of peace.
Come, there is dinner. We must keep one another strong for what is
before us.
We have a cruel and dreadful task.
When you have eaten you shall learn the rest, and I shall answer any questions you
ask, if there be anything which you do not understand, though it was apparent to us
who were present."
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL 29 September.--After dinner I came with Dr.
Seward to his study.
He brought back the phonograph from my room, and I took a chair, and arranged the
phonograph so that I could touch it without getting up, and showed me how to stop it in
case I should want to pause.
Then he very thoughtfully took a chair, with his back to me, so that I might be as
free as possible, and began to read. I put the forked metal to my ears and
listened.
When the terrible story of Lucy's death, and all that followed, was done, I lay back
in my chair powerless. Fortunately I am not of a fainting
disposition.
When Dr. Seward saw me he jumped up with a horrified exclamation, and hurriedly taking
a case bottle from the cupboard, gave me some brandy, which in a few minutes
somewhat restored me.
My brain was all in a whirl, and only that there came through all the multitude of
horrors, the holy ray of light that my dear Lucy was at last at peace, I do not think I
could have borne it without making a scene.
It is all so wild and mysterious, and strange that if I had not known Jonathan's
experience in Transylvania I could not have believed.
As it was, I didn't know what to believe, and so got out of my difficulty by
attending to something else. I took the cover off my typewriter, and
said to Dr. Seward,
"Let me write this all out now. We must be ready for Dr. Van Helsing when
he comes.
I have sent a telegram to Jonathan to come on here when he arrives in London from
Whitby.
In this matter dates are everything, and I think that if we get all of our material
ready, and have every item put in chronological order, we shall have done
much.
"You tell me that Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris are coming too.
Let us be able to tell them when they come."
He accordingly set the phonograph at a slow pace, and I began to typewrite from the
beginning of the seventeenth cylinder.
I used manifold, and so took three copies of the diary, just as I had done with the
rest.
It was late when I got through, but Dr. Seward went about his work of going his
round of the patients.
When he had finished he came back and sat near me, reading, so that I did not feel
too lonely whilst I worked. How good and thoughtful he is.
The world seems full of good men, even if there are monsters in it.
Before I left him I remembered what Jonathan put in his diary of the
Professor's perturbation at reading something in an evening paper at the
station at Exeter, so, seeing that Dr.
Seward keeps his newspapers, I borrowed the files of 'The Westminster Gazette' and 'The
Pall Mall Gazette' and took them to my room.
I remember how much the 'Dailygraph' and 'The Whitby Gazette', of which I had made
cuttings, had helped us to understand the terrible events at Whitby when Count
Dracula landed, so I shall look through the
evening papers since then, and perhaps I shall get some new light.
I am not sleepy, and the work will help to keep me quiet.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY 30 September.--Mr. Harker arrived at nine
o'clock. He got his wife's wire just before
starting.
He is uncommonly clever, if one can judge from his face, and full of energy.
If this journal be true, and judging by one's own wonderful experiences, it must
be, he is also a man of great nerve.
That going down to the vault a second time was a remarkable piece of daring.
After reading his account of it I was prepared to meet a good specimen of
manhood, but hardly the quiet, businesslike gentleman who came here today.
LATER.--After lunch Harker and his wife went back to their own room, and as I
passed a while ago I heard the click of the typewriter.
They are hard at it.
Mrs. Harker says that they are knitting together in chronological order every scrap
of evidence they have.
Harker has got the letters between the consignee of the boxes at Whitby and the
carriers in London who took charge of them. He is now reading his wife's transcript of
my diary.
I wonder what they make out of it. Here it is...
Strange that it never struck me that the very next house might be the Count's hiding
place!
Goodness knows that we had enough clues from the conduct of the patient Renfield!
The bundle of letters relating to the purchase of the house were with the
transcript.
Oh, if we had only had them earlier we might have saved poor Lucy!
Stop! That way madness lies!
Harker has gone back, and is again collecting material.
He says that by dinner time they will be able to show a whole connected narrative.
He thinks that in the meantime I should see Renfield, as hitherto he has been a sort of
index to the coming and going of the Count. I hardly see this yet, but when I get at
the dates I suppose I shall.
What a good thing that Mrs. Harker put my cylinders into type!
We never could have found the dates otherwise.
I found Renfield sitting placidly in his room with his hands folded, smiling
benignly. At the moment he seemed as sane as any one
I ever saw.
I sat down and talked with him on a lot of subjects, all of which he treated
naturally.
He then, of his own accord, spoke of going home, a subject he has never mentioned to
my knowledge during his sojourn here. In fact, he spoke quite confidently of
getting his discharge at once.
I believe that, had I not had the chat with Harker and read the letters and the dates
of his outbursts, I should have been prepared to sign for him after a brief time
of observation.
As it is, I am darkly suspicious. All those out-breaks were in some way
linked with the proximity of the Count. What then does this absolute content mean?
Can it be that his instinct is satisfied as to the vampire's ultimate triumph?
Stay.
He is himself zoophagous, and in his wild ravings outside the chapel door of the
deserted house he always spoke of 'master'. This all seems confirmation of our idea.
However, after a while I came away.
My friend is just a little too sane at present to make it safe to probe him too
deep with questions. He might begin to think, and then...
So I came away.
I mistrust these quiet moods of his, so I have given the attendant a hint to look
closely after him, and to have a strait waistcoat ready in case of need.
JOHNATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL
29 September, in train to London.--When I received Mr. Billington's courteous message
that he would give me any information in his power I thought it best to go down to
Whitby and make, on the spot, such inquiries as I wanted.
It was now my object to trace that horrid cargo of the Count's to its place in
London.
Later, we may be able to deal with it. Billington junior, a nice lad, met me at
the station, and brought me to his father's house, where they had decided that I must
spend the night.
They are hospitable, with true Yorkshire hospitality, give a guest everything and
leave him to do as he likes.
They all knew that I was busy, and that my stay was short, and Mr. Billington had
ready in his office all the papers concerning the consignment of boxes.
It gave me almost a turn to see again one of the letters which I had seen on the
Count's table before I knew of his diabolical plans.
Everything had been carefully thought out, and done systematically and with precision.
He seemed to have been prepared for every obstacle which might be placed by accident
in the way of his intentions being carried out.
To use an Americanism, he had 'taken no chances', and the absolute accuracy with
which his instructions were fulfilled was simply the logical result of his care.
I saw the invoice, and took note of it.
'Fifty cases of common earth, to be used for experimental purposes'.
Also the copy of the letter to Carter Paterson, and their reply.
Of both these I got copies.
This was all the information Mr. Billington could give me, so I went down to the port
and saw the coastguards, the Customs Officers and the harbour master, who kindly
put me in communication with the men who had actually received the boxes.
Their tally was exact with the list, and they had nothing to add to the simple
description 'fifty cases of common earth', except that the boxes were 'main and mortal
heavy', and that shifting them was dry work.
One of them added that it was hard lines that there wasn't any gentleman 'such like
as like yourself, squire', to show some sort of appreciation of their efforts in a
liquid form.
Another put in a rider that the thirst then generated was such that even the time which
had elapsed had not completely allayed it.
Needless to add, I took care before leaving to lift, forever and adequately, this
source of reproach.
30 September.--The station master was good enough to give me a line to his old
companion the station master at King's Cross, so that when I arrived there in the
morning I was able to ask him about the arrival of the boxes.
He, too put me at once in communication with the proper officials, and I saw that
their tally was correct with the original invoice.
The opportunities of acquiring an abnormal thirst had been here limited.
A noble use of them had, however, been made, and again I was compelled to deal
with the result in ex post facto manner.
From thence I went to Carter Paterson's central office, where I met with the utmost
courtesy.
They looked up the transaction in their day book and letter book, and at once
telephoned to their King's Cross office for more details.
By good fortune, the men who did the teaming were waiting for work, and the
official at once sent them over, sending also by one of them the way-bill and all
the papers connected with the delivery of the boxes at Carfax.
Here again I found the tally agreeing exactly.
The carriers' men were able to supplement the paucity of the written words with a few
more details.
These were, I shortly found, connected almost solely with the dusty nature of the
job, and the consequent thirst engendered in the operators.
On my affording an opportunity, through the medium of the currency of the realm, of the
allaying, at a later period, this beneficial evil, one of the men remarked,
"That 'ere 'ouse, guv'nor, is the rummiest I ever was in.
Blyme! But it ain't been touched sence a hundred
years.
There was dust that thick in the place that you might have slep' on it without 'urtin'
of yer bones. An' the place was that neglected that yer
might 'ave smelled ole Jerusalem in it.
But the old chapel, that took the cike, that did!
Me and my mate, we thort we wouldn't never git out quick enough.
Lor', I wouldn't take less nor a quid a moment to stay there arter dark."
Having been in the house, I could well believe him, but if he knew what I know, he
would, I think have raised his terms.
Of one thing I am now satisfied. That all those boxes which arrived at
Whitby from Varna in the Demeter were safely deposited in the old chapel at
Carfax.
There should be fifty of them there, unless any have since been removed, as from Dr.
Seward's diary I fear. Later.--Mina and I have worked all day, and
we have put all the papers into order.
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL 30 September.--I am so glad that I hardly
know how to contain myself.
It is, I suppose, the reaction from the haunting fear which I have had, that this
terrible affair and the reopening of his old wound might act detrimentally on
Jonathan.
I saw him leave for Whitby with as brave a face as could, but I was sick with
apprehension. The effort has, however, done him good.
He was never so resolute, never so strong, never so full of volcanic energy, as at
present.
It is just as that dear, good Professor Van Helsing said, he is true grit, and he
improves under strain that would kill a weaker nature.
He came back full of life and hope and determination.
We have got everything in order for tonight.
I feel myself quite wild with excitement.
I suppose one ought to pity anything so hunted as the Count.
That is just it. This thing is not human, not even a beast.
To read Dr. Seward's account of poor Lucy's death, and what followed, is enough to dry
up the springs of pity in one's heart. Later.--Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris
arrived earlier than we expected.
Dr. Seward was out on business, and had taken Jonathan with him, so I had to see
them.
It was to me a painful meeting, for it brought back all poor dear Lucy's hopes of
only a few months ago.
Of course they had heard Lucy speak of me, and it seemed that Dr. Van Helsing, too,
had been quite 'blowing my trumpet', as Mr. Morris expressed it.
Poor fellows, neither of them is aware that I know all about the proposals they made to
Lucy.
They did not quite know what to say or do, as they were ignorant of the amount of my
knowledge. So they had to keep on neutral subjects.
However, I thought the matter over, and came to the conclusion that the best thing
I could do would be to post them on affairs right up to date.
I knew from Dr. Seward's diary that they had been at Lucy's death, her real death,
and that I need not fear to betray any secret before the time.
So I told them, as well as I could, that I had read all the papers and diaries, and
that my husband and I, having typewritten them, had just finished putting them in
order.
I gave them each a copy to read in the library.
When Lord Godalming got his and turned it over, it does make a pretty good pile, he
said, "Did you write all this, Mrs. Harker?"
I nodded, and he went on.
"I don't quite see the drift of it, but you people are all so good and kind, and have
been working so earnestly and so energetically, that all I can do is to
accept your ideas blindfold and try to help you.
I have had one lesson already in accepting facts that should make a man humble to the
last hour of his life.
Besides, I know you loved my Lucy..."
Here he turned away and covered his face with his hands.
I could hear the tears in his voice.
Mr. Morris, with instinctive delicacy, just laid a hand for a moment on his shoulder,
and then walked quietly out of the room.
I suppose there is something in a woman's nature that makes a man free to break down
before her and express his feelings on the tender or emotional side without feeling it
derogatory to his manhood.
For when Lord Godalming found himself alone with me he sat down on the sofa and gave
way utterly and openly. I sat down beside him and took his hand.
I hope he didn't think it forward of me, and that if he ever thinks of it afterwards
he never will have such a thought. There I wrong him.
I know he never will.
He is too true a gentleman. I said to him, for I could see that his
heart was breaking, "I loved dear Lucy, and I know what she was to you, and what you
were to her.
She and I were like sisters, and now she is gone, will you not let me be like a sister
to you in your trouble? I know what sorrows you have had, though I
cannot measure the depth of them.
If sympathy and pity can help in your affliction, won't you let me be of some
little service, for Lucy's sake?" In an instant the poor dear fellow was
overwhelmed with grief.
It seemed to me that all that he had of late been suffering in silence found a vent
at once.
He grew quite hysterical, and raising his open hands, beat his palms together in a
perfect agony of grief. He stood up and then sat down again, and
the tears rained down his cheeks.
I felt an infinite pity for him, and opened my arms unthinkingly.
With a sob he laid his head on my shoulder and cried like a wearied child, whilst he
shook with emotion.
We women have something of the mother in us that makes us rise above smaller matters
when the mother spirit is invoked.
I felt this big sorrowing man's head resting on me, as though it were that of a
baby that some day may lie on my ***, and I stroked his hair as though he were my own
child.
I never thought at the time how strange it all was.
After a little bit his sobs ceased, and he raised himself with an apology, though he
made no disguise of his emotion.
He told me that for days and nights past, weary days and sleepless nights, he had
been unable to speak with any one, as a man must speak in his time of sorrow.
There was no woman whose sympathy could be given to him, or with whom, owing to the
terrible circumstance with which his sorrow was surrounded, he could speak freely.
"I know now how I suffered," he said, as he dried his eyes, "but I do not know even
yet, and none other can ever know, how much your sweet sympathy has been to me today.
I shall know better in time, and believe me that, though I am not ungrateful now, my
gratitude will grow with my understanding.
You will let me be like a brother, will you not, for all our lives, for dear Lucy's
sake?" "For dear Lucy's sake," I said as we
clasped hands.
"Ay, and for your own sake," he added, "for if a man's esteem and gratitude are ever
worth the winning, you have won mine today.
If ever the future should bring to you a time when you need a man's help, believe
me, you will not call in vain.
God grant that no such time may ever come to you to break the sunshine of your life,
but if it should ever come, promise me that you will let me know."
He was so earnest, and his sorrow was so fresh, that I felt it would comfort him, so
I said, "I promise." As I came along the corridor I saw Mr.
Morris looking out of a window.
He turned as he heard my footsteps. "How is Art?" he said.
Then noticing my red eyes, he went on, "Ah, I see you have been comforting him.
Poor old fellow!
He needs it. No one but a woman can help a man when he
is in trouble of the heart, and he had no one to comfort him."
He bore his own trouble so bravely that my heart bled for him.
I saw the manuscript in his hand, and I knew that when he read it he would realize
how much I knew, so I said to him, "I wish I could comfort all who suffer from the
Will you let me be your friend, and will you come to me for comfort if you need it?
You will know later why I speak."
He saw that I was in earnest, and stooping, took my hand, and raising it to his lips,
kissed it.
It seemed but poor comfort to so brave and unselfish a soul, and impulsively I bent
over and kissed him. The tears rose in his eyes, and there was a
momentary choking in his throat.
He said quite calmly, "Little girl, you will never forget that true hearted
kindness, so long as ever you live!" Then he went into the study to his friend.
"Little girl!"
The very words he had used to Lucy, and, oh, but he proved himself a friend.