Dracula
Church. Suddenly the horror burst upon me that it was thus that Jonathan
had seen those awful women growing into reality through the whirling mist
in the moonlight, and in my dream I must have fainted, for all became
black darkness. The last conscious effort which imagination made was to
show me a livid white face bending over me out of the mist. I must be
careful of such dreams, for they would unseat one’s reason if there were
too much of them. I would get Dr. Van Helsing or Dr. Seward to prescribe
something for me which would make me sleep, only that I fear to alarm
them. Such a dream at the present time would become woven into their
fears for me. To-night I shall strive hard to sleep naturally. If I do
not, I shall to-morrow night get them to give me a dose of chloral; that
cannot hurt me for once, and it will give me a good night’s sleep. Last
night tired me more than if I had not slept at all.
* * * * *
_2 October 10 p. m._--Last night I slept, but did not dream. I must have
slept soundly, for I was not waked by Jonathan coming to bed; but the
sleep has not refreshed me, for to-day I feel terribly weak and
spiritless. I spent all yesterday trying to read, or lying down dozing.
In the afternoon Mr. Renfield asked if he might see me. Poor man, he was
very gentle, and when I came away he kissed my hand and bade God bless
me. Some way it affected me much; I am crying when I think of him. This
is a new weakness, of which I must be careful. Jonathan would be
miserable if he knew I had been crying. He and the others were out till
dinner-time, and they all came in tired. I did what I could to brighten
them up, and I suppose that the effort did me good, for I forgot how
tired I was. After dinner they sent me to bed, and all went off to smoke
together, as they said, but I knew that they wanted to tell each other
of what had occurred to each during the day; I could see from Jonathan’s
manner that he had something important to communicate. I was not so
sleepy as I should have been; so before they went I asked Dr. Seward to
give me a little opiate of some kind, as I had not slept well the night
before. He very kindly made me up a sleeping draught, which he gave to
me, telling me that it would do me no harm, as it was very mild.... I
have taken it, and am waiting for sleep, which still keeps aloof. I hope
I have not done wrong, for as sleep begins to flirt with me, a new fear
comes: that I may have been foolish in thus depriving myself of the
power of waking. I might want it. Here comes sleep. Good-night.
CHAPTER XX
JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL
_1 October, evening._--I found Thomas Snelling in his house at Bethnal
Green, but unhappily he was not in a condition to remember anything. The
very prospect of beer which my expected coming had opened to him had
proved too much, and he had begun too early on his expected debauch. I
learned, however, from his wife, who seemed a decent, poor soul, that he
was only the assistant to Smollet, who of the two mates was the
responsible person. So off I drove to Walworth, and found Mr. Joseph
Smollet at home and in his shirtsleeves, taking a late tea out of a
saucer. He is a decent, intelligent fellow, distinctly a good, reliable
type of workman, and with a headpiece of his own. He remembered all
about the incident of the boxes, and from a wonderful dog’s-eared
notebook, which he produced from some mysterious receptacle about the
seat of his trousers, and which had hieroglyphical entries in thick,
half-obliterated pencil, he gave me the destinations of the boxes. There
were, he said, six in the cartload which he took from Carfax and left at
197, Chicksand Street, Mile End New Town, and another six which he
deposited at Jamaica Lane, Bermondsey. If then the Count meant to
scatter these ghastly refuges of his over London, these places were
chosen as the first of delivery, so that later he might distribute more
fully. The systematic manner in which this was done made me think that
he could not mean to confine himself to two sides of London. He was now
fixed on the far east of the northern shore, on the east of the southern
shore, and on the south. The north and west were surely never meant to
be left out of his diabolical scheme--let alone the City itself and the
very heart of fashionable London in the south-west and west. I went back
to Smollet, and asked him if he could tell us if any other boxes had
been taken from Carfax.
He replied:--
“Well, guv’nor, you’ve treated me wery ’an’some”--I had given him half a
sovereign--“an’ I’ll tell yer all I know. I heard a man by the name of
Bloxam say four nights ago in the ’Are an’ ’Ounds, in Pincher’s Alley,
as ’ow he an’ his mate ’ad ’ad a rare dusty job in a old ’ouse at
Purfect. There ain’t a-many such jobs as this ’ere, an’ I’m thinkin’
that maybe Sam Bloxam could tell ye summut.” I asked if he could tell me
where to find him. I told him that if he could get me the address it
would be worth another half-sovereign to him. So he gulped down the rest
of his tea and stood up, saying that he was going to begin the search
then and there. At the door he stopped, and said:--
“Look ’ere, guv’nor, there ain’t no sense in me a-keepin’ you ’ere. I
may find Sam soon, or I mayn’t; but anyhow he ain’t like to be in a way
to tell ye much to-night. Sam is a rare one when he starts on the booze.
If you can give me a envelope with a stamp on it, and put yer address on
it, I’ll find out where Sam is to be found and post it ye to-night. But
ye’d better be up arter ’im soon in the mornin’, or maybe ye won’t ketch
’im; for Sam gets off main early, never mind the booze the night afore.”
This was all practical, so one of the children went off with a penny to
buy an envelope and a sheet of paper, and to keep the change. When she
came back, I addressed the envelope and stamped it, and when Smollet had
again faithfully promised to post the address when found, I took my way
to home. We’re on the track anyhow. I am tired to-night, and want sleep.
Mina is fast asleep, and looks a little too pale; her eyes look as
though she had been crying. Poor dear, I’ve no doubt it frets her to be
kept in the dark, and it may make her doubly anxious about me and the
others. But it is best as it is. It is better to be disappointed and
worried in such a way now than to have her nerve broken. The doctors
were quite right to insist on her being kept out of this dreadful
business. I must be firm, for on me this particular burden of silence
must rest. I shall not ever enter on the subject with her under any
circumstances. Indeed, it may not be a hard task, after all, for she
herself has become reticent on the subject, and has not spoken of the
Count or his doings ever since we told her of our decision.
* * * * *
_2 October, evening._--A long and trying and exciting day. By the first
post I got my directed envelope with a dirty scrap of paper enclosed, on
which was written with a carpenter’s pencil in a sprawling hand:--
“Sam Bloxam, Korkrans, 4, Poters Cort, Bartel Street, Walworth. Arsk for
the depite.”
I got the letter in bed, and rose without waking Mina. She looked heavy
and sleepy and pale, and far from well. I determined not to wake her,
but that, when I should return from this new search, I would arrange for
her going back to Exeter. I think she would be happier in our own home,
with her daily tasks to interest her, than in being here amongst us and
in ignorance. I only saw Dr. Seward for a moment, and told him where I
was off to, promising to come back and tell the rest so soon as I should
have found out anything. I drove to Walworth and found, with some
difficulty, Potter’s Court. Mr. Smollet’s spelling misled me, as I asked
for Poter’s Court instead of Potter’s Court. However, when I had found
the court, I had no difficulty in discovering Corcoran’s lodging-house.
When I asked the man who came to the door for the “depite,” he shook his
head, and said: “I dunno ’im. There ain’t no such a person ’ere; I never
’eard of ’im in all my bloomin’ days. Don’t believe there ain’t nobody
of that kind livin’ ere or anywheres.” I took out Smollet’s letter, and
as I read it it seemed to me that the lesson of the spelling of the name
of the court might guide me. “What are you?” I asked.
“I’m the depity,” he answered. I saw at once that I was on the right
track; phonetic spelling had again misled me. A half-crown tip put the
deputy’s knowledge at my disposal, and I learned that Mr. Bloxam, who
had slept off the remains of his beer on the previous night at
Corcoran’s, had left for his work at Poplar at five o’clock that
morning. He could not tell me where the place of work was situated, but
he had a vague idea that it was some kind of a “new-fangled ware’us”;
and with this slender clue I had to start for Poplar. It was twelve
o’clock before I got any satisfactory hint of such a building, and this
I got at a coffee-shop, where some workmen were having their dinner. One
of these suggested that there was being erected at Cross Angel Street a
new “cold storage” building; and as this suited the condition of a
“new-fangled ware’us,” I at once drove to it. An interview with a surly
gatekeeper and a surlier foreman, both of whom were appeased with the
coin of the realm, put me on the track of Bloxam; he was sent for on my
suggesting that I was willing to pay his day’s wages to his foreman for
the privilege of asking him a few questions on a private matter. He was
a smart enough fellow, though rough of speech and bearing. When I had
promised to pay for his information and given him an earnest, he told me
that he had made two journeys between Carfax and a house in Piccadilly,
and had taken from this house to the latter nine great boxes--“main
heavy ones”--with a horse and cart hired by him for this purpose. I
asked him if he could tell me the number of the house in Piccadilly, to
which he replied:--
“Well, guv’nor, I forgits the number, but it was only a few doors from a
big white church or somethink of the kind, not long built. It was a
dusty old ’ouse, too, though nothin’ to the dustiness of the ’ouse we
tooked the bloomin’ boxes from.”
“How did you get into the houses if they were both empty?”
“There was the old party what engaged me a-waitin’ in the ’ouse at
Purfleet. He ’elped me to lift the boxes and put them in the dray. Curse
me, but he was the strongest chap I ever struck, an’ him a old feller,
with a white moustache, one that thin you would think he couldn’t throw
a shadder.”
How this phrase thrilled through me!
“Why, ’e took up ’is end o’ the boxes like they was pounds of tea, and
me a-puffin’ an’ a-blowin’ afore I could up-end mine anyhow--an’ I’m no
chicken, neither.”
“How did you get into the house in Piccadilly?” I asked.
“He was there too. He must ’a’ started off and got there afore me, for
when I rung of the bell he kem an’ opened the door ’isself an’ ’elped me
to carry the boxes into the ’all.”
“The whole nine?” I asked.
“Yus; there was five in the first load an’ four in the second. It was
main dry work, an’ I don’t so well remember ’ow I got ’ome.” I
interrupted him:--
“Were the boxes left in the hall?”
“Yus; it was a big ’all, an’ there was nothin’ else in it.” I made one
more attempt to further matters:--
“You didn’t have any key?”
“Never used no key nor nothink. The old gent, he opened the door ’isself
an’ shut it again when I druv off. I don’t remember the last time--but
that was the beer.”
“And you can’t remember the number of the house?”
“No, sir. But ye needn’t have no difficulty about that. It’s a ’igh ’un
with a stone front with a bow on it, an’ ’igh steps up to the door. I
know them steps, ’avin’ ’ad to carry the boxes up with three loafers