Dracula
The great box was in the same place, close against the wall, but the lid
was laid on it, not fastened down, but with the nails ready in their
places to be hammered home. I knew I must reach the body for the key, so
I raised the lid, and laid it back against the wall; and then I saw
something which filled my very soul with horror. There lay the Count,
but looking as if his youth had been half renewed, for the white hair
and moustache were changed to dark iron-grey; the cheeks were fuller,
and the white skin seemed ruby-red underneath; the mouth was redder than
ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood, which trickled from the
corners of the mouth and ran over the chin and neck. Even the deep,
burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches
underneath were bloated. It seemed as if the whole awful creature were
simply gorged with blood. He lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with his
repletion. I shuddered as I bent over to touch him, and every sense in
me revolted at the contact; but I had to search, or I was lost. The
coming night might see my own body a banquet in a similar way to those
horrid three. I felt all over the body, but no sign could I find of the
key. Then I stopped and looked at the Count. There was a mocking smile
on the bloated face which seemed to drive me mad. This was the being I
was helping to transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come
he might, amongst its teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, and
create a new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the
helpless. The very thought drove me mad. A terrible desire came upon me
to rid the world of such a monster. There was no lethal weapon at hand,
but I seized a shovel which the workmen had been using to fill the
cases, and lifting it high, struck, with the edge downward, at the
hateful face. But as I did so the head turned, and the eyes fell full
upon me, with all their blaze of basilisk horror. The sight seemed to
paralyse me, and the shovel turned in my hand and glanced from the face,
merely making a deep gash above the forehead. The shovel fell from my
hand across the box, and as I pulled it away the flange of the blade
caught the edge of the lid which fell over again, and hid the horrid
thing from my sight. The last glimpse I had was of the bloated face,
blood-stained and fixed with a grin of malice which would have held its
own in the nethermost hell.
I thought and thought what should be my next move, but my brain seemed
on fire, and I waited with a despairing feeling growing over me. As I
waited I heard in the distance a gipsy song sung by merry voices coming
closer, and through their song the rolling of heavy wheels and the
cracking of whips; the Szgany and the Slovaks of whom the Count had
spoken were coming. With a last look around and at the box which
contained the vile body, I ran from the place and gained the Count’s
room, determined to rush out at the moment the door should be opened.
With strained ears, I listened, and heard downstairs the grinding of the
key in the great lock and the falling back of the heavy door. There must
have been some other means of entry, or some one had a key for one of
the locked doors. Then there came the sound of many feet tramping and
dying away in some passage which sent up a clanging echo. I turned to
run down again towards the vault, where I might find the new entrance;
but at the moment there seemed to come a violent puff of wind, and the
door to the winding stair blew to with a shock that set the dust from
the lintels flying. When I ran to push it open, I found that it was
hopelessly fast. I was again a prisoner, and the net of doom was closing
round me more closely.
As I write there is in the passage below a sound of many tramping feet
and the crash of weights being set down heavily, doubtless the boxes,
with their freight of earth. There is a sound of hammering; it is the
box being nailed down. Now I can hear the heavy feet tramping again
along the hall, with many other idle feet coming behind them.
The door is shut, and the chains rattle; there is a grinding of the key
in the lock; I can hear the key withdraw: then another door opens and
shuts; I hear the creaking of lock and bolt.
Hark! in the courtyard and down the rocky way the roll of heavy wheels,
the crack of whips, and the chorus of the Szgany as they pass into the
distance.
I am alone in the castle with those awful women. Faugh! Mina is a woman,
and there is nought in common. They are devils of the Pit!
I shall not remain alone with them; I shall try to scale the castle wall
farther than I have yet attempted. I shall take some of the gold with
me, lest I want it later. I may find a way from this dreadful place.
And then away for home! away to the quickest and nearest train! away
from this cursed spot, from this cursed land, where the devil and his
children still walk with earthly feet!
At least God’s mercy is better than that of these monsters, and the
precipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may sleep--as a man.
Good-bye, all! Mina!
CHAPTER V
_Letter from Miss Mina Murray to Miss Lucy Westenra._
“_9 May._
“My dearest Lucy,--
“Forgive my long delay in writing, but I have been simply overwhelmed
with work. The life of an assistant schoolmistress is sometimes trying.
I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together
freely and build our castles in the air. I have been working very hard
lately, because I want to keep up with Jonathan’s studies, and I have
been practising shorthand very assiduously. When we are married I shall
be able to be useful to Jonathan, and if I can stenograph well enough I
can take down what he wants to say in this way and write it out for
him on the typewriter, at which also I am practising very hard. He
and I sometimes write letters in shorthand, and he is keeping a
stenographic journal of his travels abroad. When I am with you I
shall keep a diary in the same way. I don’t mean one of those
two-pages-to-the-week-with-Sunday-squeezed-in-a-corner diaries, but a
sort of journal which I can write in whenever I feel inclined. I do not
suppose there will be much of interest to other people; but it is not
intended for them. I may show it to Jonathan some day if there is in it
anything worth sharing, but it is really an exercise book. I shall try
to do what I see lady journalists do: interviewing and writing
descriptions and trying to remember conversations. I am told that, with
a little practice, one can remember all that goes on or that one hears
said during a day. However, we shall see. I will tell you of my little
plans when we meet. I have just had a few hurried lines from Jonathan
from Transylvania. He is well, and will be returning in about a week. I
am longing to hear all his news. It must be so nice to see strange
countries. I wonder if we--I mean Jonathan and I--shall ever see them
together. There is the ten o’clock bell ringing. Good-bye.
“Your loving
“MINA.
“Tell me all the news when you write. You have not told me anything for
a long time. I hear rumours, and especially of a tall, handsome,
curly-haired man???”
_Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray_.
“_17, Chatham Street_,
“_Wednesday_.
“My dearest Mina,--
“I must say you tax me _very_ unfairly with being a bad correspondent. I
wrote to you _twice_ since we parted, and your last letter was only your
_second_. Besides, I have nothing to tell you. There is really nothing
to interest you. Town is very pleasant just now, and we go a good deal
to picture-galleries and for walks and rides in the park. As to the
tall, curly-haired man, I suppose it was the one who was with me at the
last Pop. Some one has evidently been telling tales. That was Mr.
Holmwood. He often comes to see us, and he and mamma get on very well
together; they have so many things to talk about in common. We met some
time ago a man that would just _do for you_, if you were not already
engaged to Jonathan. He is an excellent _parti_, being handsome, well
off, and of good birth. He is a doctor and really clever. Just fancy! He
is only nine-and-twenty, and he has an immense lunatic asylum all under
his own care. Mr. Holmwood introduced him to me, and he called here to
see us, and often comes now. I think he is one of the most resolute men
I ever saw, and yet the most calm. He seems absolutely imperturbable. I
can fancy what a wonderful power he must have over his patients. He has
a curious habit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to
read one’s thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I flatter
myself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from my glass. Do
you ever try to read your own face? _I do_, and I can tell you it is not
a bad study, and gives you more trouble than you can well fancy if you
have never tried it. He says that I afford him a curious psychological
study, and I humbly think I do. I do not, as you know, take sufficient
interest in dress to be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is a
bore. That is slang again, but never mind; Arthur says that every day.
There, it is all out. Mina, we have told all our secrets to each other
since we were _children_; we have slept together and eaten together, and
laughed and cried together; and now, though I have spoken, I would like
to speak more. Oh, Mina, couldn’t you guess? I love him. I am blushing
as I write, for although I _think_ he loves me, he has not told me so in
words. But oh, Mina, I love him; I love him; I love him! There, that
does me good. I wish I were with you, dear, sitting by the fire
undressing, as we used to sit; and I would try to tell you what I feel.
I do not know how I am writing this even to you. I am afraid to stop,
or I should tear up the letter, and I don’t want to stop, for I _do_ so
want to tell you all. Let me hear from you _at once_, and tell me all
that you think about it. Mina, I must stop. Good-night. Bless me in your
prayers; and, Mina, pray for my happiness.
“LUCY.
“P.S.--I need not tell you this is a secret. Good-night again.
“L.”
_Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray_.
“_24 May_.
“My dearest Mina,--
“Thanks, and thanks, and thanks again for your sweet letter. It was so
nice to be able to tell you and to have your sympathy.
“My dear, it never rains but it pours. How true the old proverbs are.
Here am I, who shall be twenty in September, and yet I never had a
proposal till to-day, not a real proposal, and to-day I have had three.
Just fancy! THREE proposals in one day! Isn’t it awful! I feel sorry,
really and truly sorry, for two of the poor fellows. Oh, Mina, I am so
happy that I don’t know what to do with myself. And three proposals!
But, for goodness’ sake, don’t tell any of the girls, or they would be
getting all sorts of extravagant ideas and imagining themselves injured
and slighted if in their very first day at home they did not get six at
least. Some girls are so vain! You and I, Mina dear, who are engaged and
are going to settle down soon soberly into old married women, can
despise vanity. Well, I must tell you about the three, but you must keep
it a secret, dear, from _every one_, except, of course, Jonathan. You
will tell him, because I would, if I were in your place, certainly tell
Arthur. A woman ought to tell her husband everything--don’t you think
so, dear?--and I must be fair. Men like women, certainly their wives, to
be quite as fair as they are; and women, I am afraid, are not always
quite as fair as they should be. Well, my dear, number One came just
before lunch. I told you of him, Dr. John Seward, the lunatic-asylum
man, with the strong jaw and the good forehead. He was very cool
outwardly, but was nervous all the same. He had evidently been schooling