Now Comes the Mist

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I awaken to sunlight pouring through the windows. I lie still, enjoying the warmth and comfort of it before noticing Arthur across the room, fast asleep with one arm over his eyes and his long legs cascading off the sofa. I sit up gingerly in bed, glad not to feel dizzy. In fact, I feel wonderful aside from a slight stiffness from sleeping in one position all night. I take in several deep breaths, delighting in how easily my lungs fill and expand. The raised bumps on my throat are cool to the touch. That blessed Dr. Van Helsing has worked his magic, and so has Arthur, who gladly opened his veins for me. Perhaps that was why Mamma had allowed him to sleep in here last night—though I note that the sofa has been pushed as far away from me as possible.

As if he hears me thinking about him, Arthur stirs and glances over. “Lucy,” he says hoarsely, and the anguish and relief in his voice makes my eyes sting. I hold out my arms, smiling, and in two strides he has lifted me clean off the bed to hug me against him, so tightly I cannot tell where I end and he begins. I stroke his hair, murmuring to him as his shoulders shake. Finally, when he is calmer, he pulls away just enough to look at me. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? I was just so glad to see you looking well … Let me put you down—”

“Don’t let go,” I whisper. “Please.”

Arthur does not even hesitate or glance at the door, where my mother or maid could enter at any moment. He gathers me up, one arm around my waist and the other under my knees, and climbs into the bed with me clasped against him. We lie there holding each other, our hearts beating in tandem, his lips in my hair and my face pressed to his shirt, drinking in the smell of him. He pulls the blanket up over my shoulders and gently moves my hair to keep it from getting caught under his arm. Even this small movement creates the tiniest gap between us, and I immediately make a sound of protest and tighten my hold on him. I hear him laugh, his warm breath stirring my hair, and I wonder how I could have ever wanted anyone but this deeply kind, gentle, and honest man who needs only to be with me. No games, no lies, no artifice. Just my heart in exchange for his own.

“I love you, Arthur,” I say, my voice muffled against his shirt. “So very, very much.”

He presses a hard kiss on top of my head. “And I love you.” He smiles when I look up at him, his hazel eyes full of light. “You had me so worried. I doubted Van Helsing, but now I would trust him with my life. He was right about everything. You look so well.”

“I feel so well,” I say, and he laughs again and leans forward to kiss me. I feel safe and protected, lying there with him in the sunlight, our mouths softly moving together, neither of us asking for anything more than that moment. We end the kiss and stay nose to nose, just looking at each other, and I know that being married to him will be like this: waking up on the same pillow, caring and being cared for, and knowing that whatever calamity befell me, he would be there to offer me even the blood from his body. I run my fingers over his jaw, his cheek, and the soft fringe of his lashes, and I know that I want to make this man happy. I want to be with him every morning and every night for the rest of his life. “Mamma let you sleep in here?”

“Under pain of death if I dared leave my sofa.” His dimple appears. “So I suppose my life is forfeit … now that I’m in bed with you. And soon, I’ll be in bed with you every night.”

“Why, sir,” I say, grinning as his cheeks turn pink. “How bold of you to say so.”

Still blushing, he touches his nose to mine. “I wanted to be here all evening. Right next to you. But Dr. Van Helsing was always looking in on us like some anxious father.”

“I remember him holding me down during the operation. What happened?”

“You were trying to sit up,” he explains. “Poor girl, you were frightened by the blood going through the tube. The doctor had to keep you from hurting yourself.”

I frown. Frightened, I had not been. No … I had been thirsty . Unbearably thirsty, enough to pour the contents of the tube straight into my mouth. I glance at my bandaged arm and recall Dr. Van Helsing’s use of the term infection. Yes, indeed, I am infected with something unspeakable. If Arthur or Mina knew, would they ever look at me the same way? Would they love me enough to understand why I had asked for it? Would they forgive me?

“Lucy? What’s wrong?” Arthur asks, studying me.

“I don’t deserve you,” I whisper. “Not after what has happened.”

“What do you mean? You had an accident, that’s all. You are blameless.” He hugs me tightly. “There is nothing but happiness ahead of us, my love, and you will forget all of this.”

I bury my face in his chest and shut my eyes against the pain of knowing that I will never forget. I will remember that his heart, thudding a soft rhythm against my ear, will stop forever one day. Death will haunt us, lurking in the shadows, and I will lose Arthur or he will lose me. And I have seen for myself the depth of his suffering if he ever lost me, and God help me … I would do anything to protect him from sorrow, even if it meant walking into the mouth of hell.

A soft knock sounds on my door, interrupting my thoughts. Arthur jumps off the bed like a shot, his face bright red. But it is only Mina, not my mother. She looks at him and then back to me, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Oh, Lucy, those roses in your cheeks!” she cries, hurrying over to kiss me. “Arthur, you ought to go and eat something. I can stay with her now.”

“I’ll send her mamma up in a minute.” He leaves, closing the door behind him.

Left alone with Mina, I breathe her in hungrily. She smells of sand and sea salt. “You are covered in the ocean breeze,” I say. “How I long for a walk. I have been in bed forever!”

Mina laughs. “That was exactly what Dr. Van Helsing advised before he left. He told me to get you outside in the sun and fresh air. He knows such a great deal, doesn’t he?”

“With your brain, you could have just as much knowledge if you went to school as he did,” I tell her affectionately. “But you say he left? I was hoping to thank him again.”

“He’s on the early train to London.” Mina chuckles. “I was a bit miffed that he didn’t ask me to help with your transfusion last night, but he explained everything to me this morning and seemed amused when I took notes. He’s gone to stay with Dr. Seward and do a bit of research.”

“Research? On what?”

“Your condition, I think.” She hesitates. “Do you know, I don’t think he believes it was a dog that bit you. He was reluctant to speculate when I asked his opinion. All he said was that he needed to do some reading and consult with his friend Jack. Now! Enough chatter.” She beams, holding up a small fragrant parcel. “I went into town at first light to get you strawberry cakes. The baker thought I’d lost my mind when he saw me there so early, but when I told him …”

She continues chatting as she bustles around the room, but I am suddenly having the greatest difficulty focusing on what she is saying. There is a sharp buzzing in my ears, like that of a fly, and when it subsides, I realize, shocked, that I am able to hear Arthur and Mamma conversing downstairs as distinctly as if they were in the room with me.

“Is that the telegram that just came, dear?” Mamma asks. “Is it bad news?”

“My father is worse. The doctors say he may not have much longer to live.”

She gasps. “Oh, Arthur, I’m so sorry.”

My body goes rigid at the revelation that I can hear everything from behind a closed door and an entire floor away: Arthur’s feet pacing in the hall, the flutter of the telegram he is holding, and even Mamma’s hands wringing her skirt in sympathy.

“I confess, I have been thinking about returning to London soon myself,” Mamma says.

“And cut short your holiday in Whitby?” Arthur asks, distressed. “Not on my account?”

“No, dear. But on mine,” she says sadly.

I hold my breath, waiting for her to explain, when I notice Mina waving her hands for my attention. She calls my name in a loud voice, as though she has been doing it for some time. “Are you feeling ill again?” she asks, her blue eyes round with anxiety.

“No, no,” I say, flustered. “But Arthur has just received bad news about his father.”

“What? When? He looked so happy just now—”

The door opens and Arthur comes in, followed by my mother. I have not looked properly at Mamma since the night of the party, when she had been rosy and dressed in her best, and I am struck at once by the drastic change in her appearance. Purple shadows bloom beneath her faded eyes and her skin carries a sickly grey pallor, as though she has been the one lying ill and not I.

“Mamma,” I say, unable to keep the horror from my voice. “Are you well?”

She kisses me and hugs my head against her side, perhaps to hide her face from me. “I will be fine after some food and rest. I have been anxious over you, that’s all.”

At the foot of the bed, Arthur holds up the telegram with tears in his eyes. “I have just received an urgent summons from London,” he says. “Papa’s health has taken a turn for the worse, and my mother and the doctors want me to come home at once.”

Mina stares at me, flabbergasted that I had predicted what he was going to say.

But I am focused on Arthur, my heart aching for the pain I can understand all too well. “I am so sorry, my love,” I say quietly, reaching out for his hand. “Of course you must go at once. Go be with your father and have no fear on my account.”

He kisses me, presses Mamma’s and Mina’s hands, and leaves without another word. I shut my eyes, praying desperately that the doctors are wrong and that Arthur will not find his beloved father taking his final breaths, the way I had found Papa once. My eyes fly open, and I look up at my mother in alarm. Her waxy, unhealthy pallor is like a knife to my heart.

“Why are you thinking of leaving Whitby so soon, Mamma?” I ask.

“How did you know that?” she asks, shocked. “I mentioned it to Arthur downstairs.”

“Lucy has been making some very astute guesses this morning,” Mina says slowly.

“Why are you cutting our holiday short?” I persist. “We always stay for another week. Do you feel poorly?” I do not miss the meaningful glance that passes between my mother and Mina.

But Mamma only says, “Hush, Lucy. You are getting much too excited. I told you, I have been so anxious over you that I haven’t been sleeping soundly, that is all. Dr. Van Helsing gave me pills to help and agreed that you and I might be more comfortable at home.”

“This is all my fault,” I whisper, taking in her hollowed cheeks and shadowed eyes. Hers is the face of a woman who has been mourning over the sickbed of her only child, perhaps wondering if she will soon have no one left in the world. “I have made you ill.”

“Nonsense,” my mother says firmly. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

I want to shout “I have done wrong!” But I can see that my rising distress is upsetting her, so I try to calm myself. “Yes, I agree. We should go home. We will both rest and recover, and we can be near Arthur if …” I swallow hard. “If he needs us.”

“Good.” My mother gives me an approving kiss and moves toward the door, slow and deliberate, as though the motion pains her. “We will take the afternoon train tomorrow.”

“Let me make the arrangements, Mrs. Westenra, and you lie down,” Mina says anxiously, hurrying after her. She glances back at me. “I will return in a moment, Lucy.”

Alone at last, I give in to my guilt and grief. My mother, always so full of merry gossip and energy, has become a ghost of herself in only four days. She seems to have aged years from care and worry. I have brought her closer to the grave. I press my hands over my eyes, weeping silently at my own folly. No. Not my folly. I had not wished for this .

Vlad could have granted my request without such brutality, but he had not. He had almost killed me to teach me a lesson, all because I dared to ask for what he himself had chosen.

I clench my teeth, cursing him and hating that I still long for him even after his cruelty. But he has made my last summer of freedom a dream of languorous moonlit nights, such as I will never have again. And now I will leave Whitby without seeing him or saying goodbye.

The sun streams in through my window, its warmth calming me a bit. I remove my trembling hands from my eyes and let the light soothe me. And then I sit up so fast that it almost brings back my dizziness. Vlad told me his bite might make me feel his limitations, but the sun is not hurting me. Fearfully, I look into the mirror across the room and exhale when I see my reflection, hair mussed, nightgown rumpled, and gaze a bit wild. Perhaps he did not infect me enough to feel any changes. Yet how can I explain my newly, unnaturally acute hearing?

Mina comes back into the room. “All is arranged,” she tells me. “The servants will buy the tickets and pack, and I will come and stay with you in London awhile. Mail always gets there more quickly than it does to my aunt’s house.” Her voice drops to almost a whisper as she moves to the window, pressing her knuckles to her mouth.

I look at her drooping shoulders and her hair, soft and bright in the sunlight, and I know that I must tell her about Jonathan … but I have no idea how to say it. I open my mouth, hoping that the right words will somehow tumble out, when she speaks again.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. The count has been calling every evening to ask how you are.”

The air seems to stop in my lungs. “ Here ? At this house?”

She looks at me, puzzled by my tone. “Yes. He came last night when you were sleeping.”

“Mina, come here to me.” I hold out my hands and she obeys at once, alarmed. “Listen closely. You must never, ever invite the count inside. Have you done so?”

“No. He hands in flowers from the doorstep, and we leave them in the parlor to keep from disturbing you. I never ask him in because he comes so late, and also because I want to spare poor Arthur’s feelings. I think the count cares for you more than he should.”

I throw my arms around her. “Oh, you clever girl. Thank goodness!”

“What is this all about? I thought you liked him. As a friend.”

My heart is beating so fast that I feel lightheaded again. I lie back down, trying to dispel the horrifying prospect of Vlad inhabiting the same space as Arthur or Mamma or Mina. “Never invite him in. He is not welcome over the threshold of our door. And please discard his flowers.”

Mina studies me. “You’re … afraid of him. Why?”

I look up at her beloved face, with her soft rose cheeks, summer-sky eyes, and her hair glowing gold in the light. “Mina, I have something to tell you and I cannot explain how I know it. It is similar to how I knew about Arthur’s father and Mamma’s decision to leave this morning before they had even come into the room. Will you promise not to ask how I know?”

She chews on her lip. “I … I promise.”

After a long pause, I say, “Jonathan Harker is safe. He is not dead.”

She goes absolutely still. The silence stretches on for so long that I begin to think she will not speak at all. And then she presses her hands over her heart and whispers, “He is not dead?”

“He is not dead. I know it for a fact. But that is all I can tell you.”

“But how can you be sure?” Mina’s eyes dart between each of mine, quick and keen. “Lucy, what does Jonathan have to do with the count?”

“Please, you promised not to question me.” My eyes flutter shut. My heart has slowed a bit, but I feel an overpowering weariness take hold of me. “I must rest now. I’m still weak. Perhaps we will not get our last walk in Whitby after all.”

Mina wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Oh, Lucy, I hope you are right. I feel that you are right. But why did—” She breaks off. “Rest, dear. I will be right here.”

The last thing I see before sleep takes me is her standing by the window, a fist pressed to her mouth to keep from crying. And when I dream, I see the cliffs above the crashing sea, green countryside rolling by outside the train windows, and Vlad watching me from the shadows, his eyes at once pleading for my forgiveness and threatening that I will never be free of him.