9 May
My dearest Lucy,
Please forgive me for taking so long to write. I have been buried in work lately. Being an assistant schoolmistress can be exhausting.
I miss you terribly. I wish I could be with you by the sea, walking together and dreaming about the future as we used to.
I have been studying hard because I want to keep up with Jonathan. I have also been practising shorthand every chance I get. Once we are married, I hope I can be useful to him. If I become good enough at shorthand, I can record what he says and then type it up for him. I am practising typing too.
Jonathan and I sometimes write to each other in shorthand. He is also keeping a shorthand journal of his travels abroad.
When I am with you, I think I shall keep a diary in the same way. Not one of those little diaries where each week gets only two pages, with Sunday squeezed into a corner. I want a real journal that I can write in whenever I have something to say.
I doubt anyone else will find it very interesting, but that isn’t the point. It is really just practice for me. Perhaps one day I will show it to Jonathan if I write something worth sharing.
I want to try writing the way women journalists do. I could interview people, describe what I see, and try to remember conversations. They say that with enough practice, you can learn to remember almost everything that happens during a day.
We’ll see how I do.
I’ll tell you all about my plans when we meet.
I have just received a few hurried lines from Jonathan. He is in Transylvania, but he says he is well and expects to return in about a week.
I can’t wait to hear everything he has seen.
It must be wonderful to visit strange countries. I wonder whether Jonathan and I will ever get the chance to travel together.
The ten o’clock bell is ringing, so I must stop.
Your loving friend,
Mina
And please tell me all your news when you write. You haven’t told me anything for ages. I keep hearing little rumors, especially about a tall, handsome man with curly hair.
Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray
17 Chatham Street
Wednesday
My dearest Mina,
You are being very unfair when you accuse me of being a bad correspondent. I have written to you twice since we parted, and your last letter was only your second.
Besides, I really haven’t had anything exciting to tell you.
London is pleasant enough at the moment. We spend a lot of time visiting art galleries, walking, and riding in the park.
As for the tall, curly-haired man, I suppose you mean the one who was with me at the last party. Someone has clearly been gossiping to you.
His name is Arthur Holmwood.
He comes to see us quite often, and he and Mother get along extremely well. They have so many things in common to talk about.
We also met a man recently who would be absolutely perfect for you—if you weren’t already engaged to Jonathan.
He is handsome, wealthy, well-born, and a doctor. And he’s extremely intelligent.
Can you believe he is only twenty-nine and already runs a huge lunatic asylum?
Mr. Holmwood introduced us. The doctor came to visit us, and now he often drops by.
I think he is one of the most determined men I have ever met, yet he is also remarkably calm. Nothing seems to disturb him.
I can imagine what a powerful influence he must have over his patients.
He has a strange habit of looking directly into your eyes, almost as though he is trying to discover what you are thinking.
He does it to me all the time, but I like to think I am not so easy to understand.
I know that from looking at myself in the mirror.
Do you ever study your own face, Mina? I do. It’s surprisingly interesting, and much harder than you might expect.
He says I am an interesting psychological puzzle.
I suppose he may be right.
You know I don’t care much about fashion, so I couldn’t tell you anything about the latest styles. Clothes bore me.
Arthur says that all the time. I’m afraid I’ve picked up his expression.
Well, Mina, you and I have shared everything since we were children. We slept together, ate together, laughed together, and cried together.
So now that I’ve started telling you this, I want to tell you everything.
Oh, Mina, can’t you guess?
I love him.
I’m blushing as I write this. I think he loves me too, but he hasn’t actually said it.
Still, I love him. I love him. I love him!
There, I’ve said it, and I feel better already.
I wish you were here beside me, sitting by the fire as we used to. I would try to explain everything I’m feeling.
I don’t even know how I managed to write this letter to you. I was afraid that if I stopped, I would tear it up.
And I don’t want to stop. I want to tell you everything.
Please write back immediately and tell me what you think.
Mina, I really must stop now.
Good night. Please remember me in your prayers, and pray that I will be happy.
Lucy
P.S. You know this must remain a secret.
Good night again.
L.
Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray
24 May
My dearest Mina,
Thank you, thank you, thank you for your lovely letter!
It felt wonderful to be able to tell you everything and know that you understood how I felt.
My dear, that old saying is certainly true: once things start happening, they all happen at once.
I’ll be twenty in September, and until today I had never received a real marriage proposal.
Today I received three.
Three proposals in a single day!
Can you imagine?
I feel genuinely sorry for two of the poor men.
And yet, Mina, I am so happy I hardly know what to do with myself.
But please don’t tell the other girls. They would start getting ridiculous ideas and feel insulted if they didn’t receive at least six proposals on their first day back home.
Some girls are terribly vain.
You and I, dear Mina, are already engaged and will soon become respectable old married women. We can afford to laugh at such vanity.
Now I must tell you about all three men.
But you must keep this secret from everyone except Jonathan. You should tell him, because if I were in your place, I would certainly tell Arthur.
A woman ought to tell her husband everything, don’t you think?
Men expect honesty from women, especially from their wives, and I suppose we should give them the same honesty in return.
Well, number one arrived just before lunch.
You remember Dr. John Seward, the doctor who runs the asylum. He has that strong jaw and broad forehead.
He looked very calm on the outside, but I could tell he was nervous.
He had clearly prepared himself for the occasion and remembered all the little things he had planned to do.
Unfortunately, he almost sat on his silk hat.
Then, whenever he tried to look relaxed, he kept playing nervously with a surgical instrument. I nearly screamed.
He spoke very directly.
He told me how much he cared about me, even though he had known me for such a short time. He told me how happy his life would be if I were there to support and encourage him.
He was about to tell me how miserable he would be if I didn’t love him, but then he saw me crying.
He immediately stopped.
He said he was behaving like a brute and didn’t want to make me feel worse.
Then he asked whether I might learn to love him someday.
I shook my head.
His hands began to tremble.
After a moment, he asked whether I already loved someone else.
He put the question very gently. He said he didn’t want to force me to reveal anything private. He only wanted to know whether my heart was already taken, because if it wasn’t, he could still hope.
I felt that I had to be honest with him.
So I told him there was someone else.
That was all I said.
He stood up, took both my hands, and looked very serious.
He told me that he hoped I would be happy. He also said that if I ever needed a friend, I should think of him as one of my closest friends.
Oh, Mina, I can’t stop crying.
You’ll have to forgive all the stains on this letter.
Being proposed to is flattering, of course. But it isn’t pleasant when you see a good man, someone you know truly loves you, walk away heartbroken.
And knowing that, no matter what he says, you may have just disappeared from his life forever is painful.
I have to stop for now.
I feel miserable even though I am happy.
Evening
Arthur has just left, and I feel much better now. So I can continue telling you about my day.
Number two came after lunch.
He is such a charming man. He is an American from Texas, and he looks so young and energetic that it’s hard to believe he has already traveled so much and experienced so many adventures.
Listening to his stories reminds me of Desdemona in the play, who was fascinated by the dangerous adventures Othello told her.
I suppose women are often frightened by the world and hope that a brave man will protect them. Perhaps that is one reason we marry them.
I even know what I would do if I were a man trying to make a girl fall in love with me.
Actually, I don’t.
Mr. Morris has been telling us all his wild stories, while Arthur has never been one to tell stories, and yet—
Oh, dear, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Mr. Quincey P. Morris found me alone.
It does seem that men always manage to find a girl alone when they want to propose.
Although that isn’t entirely true. Arthur tried twice to arrange a private moment with me, and I helped him both times.
I suppose I can admit that now.
I should explain something about Mr. Morris. He doesn’t always speak in slang. In fact, he never does it around strangers because he is extremely well educated and has excellent manners.
But he discovered that I enjoyed hearing his American expressions.
So whenever I was around and no one was likely to be offended, he would entertain me with them.
Sometimes I think he invents them just for fun because they always seem to fit perfectly into whatever he is saying.
I don’t know whether I will ever speak that way myself.
And I don’t know whether Arthur likes slang. I’ve never heard him use it.
Anyway, Mr. Morris sat beside me.
He looked cheerful and relaxed, but I could see that he was nervous.
He took my hand and said very sweetly:
“Miss Lucy, I know I’m not good enough even to tie your little shoes, but if you wait until you find a man who is, you may end up waiting forever. So why not come along with me and let us travel through life together?”
He looked so cheerful and good-natured that refusing him didn’t feel nearly as painful as refusing Dr. Seward.
So I tried to make light of it.
I told him I didn’t know anything about being tied to a man yet and certainly wasn’t ready to be married.
He immediately became serious.
He said he had tried to make the proposal sound lighthearted and hoped I would forgive him if that had been wrong, considering how important the moment was to him.
He looked so serious that I became serious too.
And Mina, I have to admit something rather shameful.
Part of me was secretly thrilled that I was already receiving my second proposal that day.
Before I could say anything else, he suddenly began pouring out his feelings.
He told me how deeply he loved me and offered me everything he had.
He looked so sincere that I will never again assume a cheerful man cannot also be serious when love is involved.
Then he suddenly stopped.
Perhaps he saw something in my face.
His voice became firm and sincere.
“Lucy, I know you’re an honest girl. I wouldn’t be standing here saying these things if I didn’t believe you were honest all the way through.
“Tell me truthfully—is there someone else you love?
“If there is, I will never bother you again. But if you’ll allow me, I would still like to be your loyal friend.”
Oh, Mina, why are men sometimes so noble when women are so unworthy of them?
There I was, almost making fun of this wonderful man, and he was being completely sincere with me.
I burst into tears.
I’m afraid this letter is a complete mess in every possible way.
I felt terrible.
Why can’t a woman marry three men—or however many men love her—and save everyone this pain?
I know that’s a ridiculous thing to say, so forget I said it.
Even while crying, I managed to look into Mr. Morris’s brave eyes.
And I told him the truth.
“Yes. There is someone I love. But he hasn’t even told me that he loves me yet.”
I was glad I had been honest.
His whole face seemed to brighten.
He took both my hands and said warmly:
“That was brave of you.
“It is better to arrive late and have a chance of winning you than to arrive first and end up with someone else.
“Don’t cry, Lucy. If you’re crying because of me, I’m strong enough to take it.
“And if that other man doesn’t realize how lucky he is, he’d better figure it out soon—or he’ll have me to answer to.
“Your honesty has made me your friend. And a true friend is rarer than a lover. At least friendship asks for less in return.
“My dear, I suppose I’ll have a lonely journey through the rest of my life.
“Will you give me one kiss? It would give me something warm to remember when life feels dark.
“You can do that, you know. That other man hasn’t even told you he loves you yet.”
That won me over completely.
It was brave, kind, and generous of him to say such things about a rival when he was hurting himself.
So I leaned forward and kissed him.
He stood up, still holding both my hands.
He looked down at me—I was probably bright red by then—and said:
“Little girl, you’ve held my hand and kissed me. If that doesn’t make us friends, nothing ever will.
“Thank you for being honest with me.
“Goodbye.”
He shook my hand, picked up his hat, and walked straight out.
He didn’t look back.
He didn’t cry.
He didn’t hesitate.
And now I’m crying like a child.
Oh, why does a man like that have to suffer when there are so many women who would adore him?
If I were free, I know I would.
But I don’t want to be free.
This has upset me so much that I can’t bring myself to tell you about number three just yet.
I’ll tell you when I can do it happily.
Ever your loving,
Lucy
P.S. About number three—I don’t really need to tell you, do I?
Everything happened so quickly. He walked into the room, and the next thing I knew, his arms were around me and he was kissing me.
I am so, so happy.
I don’t know what I have done to deserve such happiness.
All I can do now is spend the rest of my life showing that I am grateful for God’s kindness in giving me such a wonderful lover, husband, and friend.
Goodbye.
Dr. Seward’s Diary
25 April
I have no appetite today.
I can’t eat, and I can’t rest, so I may as well write in my diary.
Ever since yesterday’s rejection, I have felt completely empty. Nothing seems important enough to care about.
I know that work is the best cure for this kind of misery, so I went down to see the patients.
I chose one particular patient who has always fascinated me.
His ideas are extremely strange, yet he doesn’t seem like an ordinary lunatic.
I have decided that I must understand him as thoroughly as possible.
Today I felt that I came closer than ever to understanding what lies behind his strange behavior.
I questioned him more closely than usual because I wanted to understand exactly what he believes he is seeing and experiencing.
Looking back, I realize that I was almost cruel in the way I did it.
I kept pushing him deeper into his madness, something I normally avoid as carefully as I would avoid the gates of hell.
A strange thought occurs to me: under what circumstances would I ever willingly approach hell?
There must be something behind this instinct of mine, and if I can understand it properly, it may prove valuable later.
So I had better begin recording my observations carefully.
R. M. Renfield, aged fifty-nine.
He is physically strong, energetic, and unusually excitable.
His periods of depression always seem to end with him becoming obsessed with some fixed idea, although I still don’t understand exactly what those ideas are.
His temperament, combined with whatever is disturbing his mind, seems to drive him toward these intense mental states.
He may be dangerous.
In fact, I suspect he could become extremely dangerous if he ever stopped thinking only about himself.
A selfish man is often held back by his own caution. That caution can protect others as much as it protects him.
But when a person becomes completely devoted to a cause, a duty, or someone else’s interests, that restraint can disappear.
Then only chance—or a series of accidents—may be able to stop him.
Quincey P. Morris to Arthur Holmwood
25 May
My dear Art,
We’ve sat around campfires together on the prairies, told stories late into the night, and patched each other up after our adventures in the Marquesas.
We’ve shared drinks on the shores of Lake Titicaca too.
So there are still plenty of stories to tell, wounds to recover from, and drinks to raise together.
Why don’t you come to my place tomorrow night?
I know a certain lady already has dinner plans, so you’re free.
Jack Seward will be there too, our old friend from Korea.
The two of us want to sit down with you, drink some wine, and celebrate the happiest man in the world.
You’ve won the heart of a truly wonderful woman, and we couldn’t be happier for you.
We’ll give you a warm welcome and raise a sincere toast to your happiness.
But we’ve both agreed that if you drink too much while staring into a certain lady’s eyes, we’ll have to drag you home ourselves.
Come and join us.
Yours, as always,
Quincey P. Morris
Telegram from Arthur Holmwood to Quincey P. Morris
26 May
Count me in.
I’ll be there, and I have some news for both of you that will make your ears ring.
Arthur