When we reached the Berkeley Hotel, Van Helsing found a telegram waiting for him.
“I’m coming to London by train. Jonathan is still in Whitby. I have important news. —Mina Harker”
The Professor was delighted.
“Ah, that wonderful Mrs. Mina,” he said. “There is no woman like her. She is coming, but I cannot stay here. She must go to your house, John. You must meet her at the station.”
He thought for a moment.
“Send her a telegram while she is on the way. Tell her what to expect.”
After sending the telegram, Van Helsing sat down and had some tea.
While he drank, he told me about a diary Jonathan Harker had kept during his journey abroad. He also gave me a typed copy of Mina’s diary from Whitby.
“Take these,” he said. “Read them carefully.”
“When I return, you should know all the facts. Then we can begin our investigation properly.”
“Keep these papers safe. They contain information that may be more valuable than you realize.”
“You have already seen things that would make most people refuse to believe them, but you will need even more courage and faith.”
He placed his hand firmly on the bundle of papers.
“What is written here may be the beginning of the end for you, for me, and for many others.”
“Or it may be the beginning of the end for the Un-Dead who are walking among us.”
“Read everything with an open mind. And if you have anything that can add to this story, put it down. Every detail may matter.”
“You have been keeping your own diary about all these strange events, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. When we meet again, we will compare everything together.”
Soon afterward, Van Helsing prepared to leave and drove to Liverpool Street Station.
I went to Paddington Station, arriving about fifteen minutes before Mina’s train.
The crowd gradually disappeared from the platform after the usual rush of arriving passengers.
I was beginning to worry that I might somehow miss her when a young woman with a sweet, delicate face approached me.
After taking a quick look at me, she asked,
“Dr. Seward, isn’t it?”
“And you must be Mrs. Harker.”
She immediately held out her hand.
“I recognized you from dear Lucy’s description of you. But—”
She suddenly stopped, and a blush spread across her face.
I felt myself blushing too.
Somehow, that made both of us relax.
I collected her luggage. Among her belongings was a typewriter.
After sending a message to my housekeeper to prepare a sitting room and bedroom for her, we took the Underground to Fenchurch Street.
Eventually we reached my home.
Mina already knew that it was a lunatic asylum, of course, but I noticed that she couldn’t completely hide a slight shudder when we entered.
She told me that she would come to my study shortly because she had a great deal to tell me.
So now I am finishing this entry in my phonograph diary while I wait for her.
I still haven’t had the chance to read the papers Van Helsing gave me, although they are lying open on the table.
I need to keep Mina occupied long enough to read them.
She doesn’t yet understand how precious every minute is or how difficult the task ahead of us will be.
I must be careful not to frighten her.
Ah—here she is.
After I had freshened up, I went downstairs to Dr. Seward’s study.
When I reached the door, I stopped for a moment.
I thought I heard him talking to someone inside.
But since he had asked me to come quickly, I knocked.
“Come in,” he called.
I entered.
To my surprise, Dr. Seward was completely alone.
On the table in front of him was a strange machine. From his description, I immediately recognized it as a phonograph.
I had never seen one before, and I was fascinated by it.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” I said. “I stopped at the door because I thought you were talking to someone.”
He smiled.
“Oh, I was only recording my diary.”
“Your diary?”
“Yes. I keep it on this machine.”
He placed his hand on the phonograph.
I became even more curious.
“That is amazing. It’s even better than shorthand. Could I hear it?”
“Of course.”
He eagerly stood up to operate the machine.
But then he stopped.
A troubled expression appeared on his face.
“Well, the thing is, I only record my diary on it. And almost everything in it is about my medical cases. It might be rather awkward. I mean—”
He stopped again.
I tried to make things easier for him.
“You helped care for dear Lucy during her final days.”
“Please let me hear what happened to her. Anything I can learn about her would mean a great deal to me. She was very dear to me.”
To my surprise, his face filled with horror.
“Tell you about her death?”
“Never. I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
A terrible feeling began to grow inside me.
Again he hesitated, obviously trying to think of an excuse.
Finally he said,
“You see, I don’t know how to find one particular part of the diary.”
As he spoke, he suddenly seemed to realize that this excuse was rather weak.
“That’s true, actually. I swear it is.”
I smiled despite myself.
He made a face.
“Well, I gave myself away there!”
He laughed awkwardly.
“I’ve been keeping this diary for months, but it never occurred to me how I would find a particular entry if I ever needed it.”
By then I was certain that the diary of the doctor who had treated Lucy might contain information that could help us understand the terrible creature behind everything.
So I spoke firmly.
“Then let me type it out for you. I can use my typewriter.”
His face became deathly pale.
“No! No! Absolutely not!”
“I don’t want you to know that terrible story!”
Then it really was terrible.
My instincts had been right.
I looked around the room, searching for some way to convince him.
My eyes fell on the large pile of typed papers lying on the table.
Dr. Seward noticed where I was looking.
He understood immediately.
“You don’t really know me yet,” I said.
“When you have read those papers—my own diary and my husband’s, which I have already typed—you will understand me much better.”
“I have written down every thought I could contribute to this investigation.”
“But I know you don’t know me well enough yet to trust me completely. I cannot expect you to.”
He was clearly a man of great character.
Poor Lucy had been right about him.
He stood and opened a large drawer.
Inside were many hollow metal cylinders covered with dark wax, arranged neatly in rows.
“You are right,” he said.
“I didn’t trust you because I didn’t know you.”
“But I know you now.”
“And I should have realized much sooner what kind of woman you are.”
“Lucy told me about you, and she also told you about me.”
“Let me make up for my earlier distrust.”
“Take these cylinders and listen to them.”
“The first six contain mostly personal matters about me. They won’t frighten you.”
“Once you’ve heard them, you’ll understand me better.”
“By then dinner should be ready.”
“In the meantime, I will read some of these documents. They may help me understand things that have happened.”
He carried the phonograph himself to my sitting room and set it up for me.
Now I was certain I would learn something important.
The machine would reveal the other side of a love story of which I had known only one half.
I became so absorbed in Jonathan Harker’s diary and Mina’s diary that I completely lost track of time.
When the maid came to tell me that dinner was ready, Mina had not yet come downstairs.
“She may be tired,” I said. “Let dinner wait another hour.”
Then I returned to my reading.
I had just finished Mina’s diary when she finally entered the room.
She looked beautiful, but very sad.
Her eyes were red from crying.
Something about the sight moved me deeply.
I had had plenty of reasons to cry myself, but I had never really allowed myself that release.
Now, seeing the tears still shining in her eyes, I felt an unexpected ache in my heart.
“I am afraid I’ve upset you,” I said gently.
“No,” she replied. “You didn’t upset me.”
“But I was deeply affected by your grief.”
“That machine is extraordinary, but it is painfully honest.”
“It let me hear the suffering in your voice.”
“It sounded like a human soul crying out to God.”
“No one else should ever have to hear those recordings.”
“I’ve tried to help.”
“I typed everything out, so no one else needs to listen to your pain the way I did.”
“No one needs to know,” I said quietly.
“No one ever will.”
She placed her hand over mine.
“Oh, but they must.”
“Must? Why?”
“Because your recordings are part of the terrible story.”
“They are part of Lucy’s death and everything that led to it.”
“We are trying to rid the world of this terrible monster. To do that, we need every piece of information we can find.”
“I think those cylinders told me more than you originally intended.”
“But they also revealed important clues.”
“You will let me help, won’t you?”
“I already know what happened up to a certain point.”
“From your diary, which only goes as far as September 7, I can already see how poor Lucy was being attacked and how her terrible fate was taking shape.”
“Jonathan and I have been working day and night since Professor Van Helsing came to see us.”
“He has gone back to Whitby to gather more information, and he will return tomorrow to help us.”
“There should be no secrets between us.”
“If we work together and trust one another completely, we will be much stronger than if some of us are left in the dark.”
She looked at me with such courage and determination that I gave in immediately.
“All right,” I said.
“Do whatever you think is necessary.”
“God forgive me if I am making a mistake.”
“There are still terrible things for us to discover.”
“But if you have already followed Lucy’s story this far, I know you won’t be satisfied with only half the truth.”
“Perhaps learning everything will even bring you some peace.”
“Come. Let’s eat.”
“We need to keep our strength for what lies ahead.”
“We have a terrible task before us.”
“After dinner, I will tell you the rest.”
“And if anything is unclear, ask me. I will answer as best I can.”
After dinner, I returned to Dr. Seward’s study with him.
He brought the phonograph back from my room, and I brought my typewriter.
He gave me a comfortable chair and positioned the phonograph so I could operate it without getting up.
He also showed me how to stop it whenever I needed a break.
Then, thoughtfully, he sat with his back to me so I would feel completely free to work.
He began to read.
I placed the listening device against my ears and started the recording.
When the terrible account of Lucy’s death and everything that happened afterward finally ended, I collapsed back in my chair.
Thankfully, I have never been the kind of person who faints easily.
Dr. Seward saw how badly I had been affected.
He jumped up in alarm, hurried to a cupboard, and brought me a bottle of brandy.
After a few minutes, I began to recover.
My mind was spinning.
The only thing that kept me from completely breaking down was the one comforting thought that ran through all the horror:
My dear Lucy was finally at peace.
Everything I had heard was so strange, so unbelievable, that if I had not known about Jonathan’s experiences in Transylvania, I could never have accepted it.
Even then, I wasn’t sure what to believe.
So I forced myself to focus on something practical.
I uncovered my typewriter.
“Let me type all of this now,” I said.
“We need everything ready before Dr. Van Helsing returns.”
“I’ve sent a telegram asking Jonathan to come here when he reaches London from Whitby.”
“The dates are extremely important.”
“If we put every piece of evidence into chronological order, we may finally be able to see the whole picture.”
“You told me Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris are coming too.”
“Let’s make sure we have everything ready to explain to them.”
Dr. Seward slowed the phonograph.
I began typing from the seventh cylinder.
I used carbon paper so I could make three copies at once, just as I had done with the other documents.
It was very late when I finished.
Dr. Seward had gone about his rounds among the patients, but once he was finished, he returned and sat nearby reading.
His presence kept me from feeling alone.
He is such a kind and thoughtful man.
It seems the world is full of good people—even if monsters really do exist in it.
Before I left, I remembered something Jonathan had written about Professor Van Helsing becoming disturbed after reading something in an evening newspaper at Exeter Station.
Since Dr. Seward kept his newspapers, I borrowed copies of the Westminster Gazette and the Pall Mall Gazette and took them to my room.
The newspaper reports I had collected from the Dailygraph and the Whitby Gazette had helped us understand what happened when Count Dracula arrived in Whitby.
Perhaps these later papers would reveal something else.
I wasn’t sleepy anyway.
The work would help keep my mind calm.
Jonathan Harker arrived at nine the next morning.
He had received Mina’s telegram just before leaving.
From his appearance, I could immediately see that he was intelligent and energetic.
If his journal was accurate—and after everything I had personally experienced, I had no reason to doubt it—then he was also extraordinarily brave.
His decision to return to that vault a second time had required tremendous courage.
After reading his account, I had expected a strong, fearless man.
Still, I was surprised by how calm and practical he seemed when he arrived.
Later, after lunch, Jonathan and Mina returned to their room.
As I passed by, I heard the familiar clicking of the typewriter.
They were working hard.
Mina told me that they were arranging every piece of evidence in chronological order.
Jonathan had obtained the correspondence between the people who received the boxes in Whitby and the London carriers who transported them.
He was now reading the typed copy of my diary.
I wondered what he would make of it.
Then something suddenly struck me.
Why had it never occurred to me that the very house next to this asylum might be one of the Count’s hiding places?
We had already had plenty of clues from Renfield.
The documents concerning the purchase of the house were included with the other papers.
If only we had found them sooner.
We might have saved poor Lucy.
No.
I must not think that way.
That path leads only to madness.
Jonathan returned to his work of comparing the documents.
He said that by dinner they should have a complete, connected account of everything that had happened.
He also suggested that I visit Renfield.
According to Jonathan, Renfield had been like an index showing when the Count was coming and going.
I wasn’t convinced yet.
Perhaps the dates would make everything clearer.
Thank God Mina had typed my phonograph recordings.
Without her work, we could never have organized the events properly.
I went to see Renfield.
He was sitting quietly in his room with his hands folded, smiling peacefully.
At that moment, he seemed perfectly sane.
I sat down and talked with him about several ordinary subjects.
He responded naturally to everything.
Then, without being asked, he began talking about going home.
As far as I knew, he had never mentioned leaving the asylum during his entire stay.
Now he spoke with complete confidence about being discharged immediately.
If I had not spoken with Jonathan and read the letters and dates connected with Renfield’s earlier attacks, I might have been willing to recommend his release after watching him for a little while.
But now I was deeply suspicious.
Every one of Renfield’s strange outbursts seemed to have occurred when the Count was nearby.
So what did this sudden calmness mean?
Could it be that Renfield somehow sensed that the vampire was going to win?
There was another troubling detail.
Renfield was a zoophagous patient, obsessed with consuming living creatures.
And during his wild speech outside the chapel of the abandoned house, he had repeatedly spoken of his “master.”
Everything seemed to support our theory.
Still, I eventually left him alone.
He seemed almost too sane at the moment, and I didn’t think it was safe to question him too deeply.
If I pushed him too far, he might begin thinking about things that would trigger another attack.
I didn’t trust this sudden peaceful mood.
So I quietly warned his attendant to watch him carefully and keep a straitjacket ready if necessary.
When I received Mr. Billington’s kind message saying that he would give me whatever information he could, I decided to travel to Whitby myself.
I wanted to investigate everything there while the evidence was still available.
My immediate goal was to trace the Count’s terrible cargo and find out where the boxes had been taken in London.
We might be able to deal with the boxes later.
Billington’s son met me at the station.
He was a pleasant young man and took me to his father’s house, where they insisted that I stay the night.
They treated me with the warm hospitality for which Yorkshire is famous.
They gave their guest everything he needed and then allowed him to do as he pleased.
They knew I was there on business and would not be staying long.
Mr. Billington had already gathered all the papers relating to the shipment and placed them in his office.
It was disturbing to see one of the letters again.
I remembered seeing it on the Count’s table before I understood what he was planning.
Everything Dracula had done had been carefully planned.
He had prepared for every possible obstacle.
He had taken no chances.
His instructions had been followed with incredible precision.
I examined the invoice.
It listed:
“Fifty cases of ordinary earth, for experimental purposes.”
I also obtained copies of the letters exchanged with Carter Paterson and their replies.
That was all the information Mr. Billington could provide.
So I went down to the port.
I spoke with the coastguards, Customs officers, and harbor master.
They all remembered the strange arrival of the ship.
The story was already becoming part of local legend.
But none of them knew anything beyond the basic description:
“Fifty cases of ordinary earth.”
I then spoke with the station master.
He kindly introduced me to the men who had actually handled the boxes.
Their records matched the original list exactly.
They had nothing important to add except that the boxes were unbelievably heavy.
Moving them had been exhausting work.
One of the men joked that it was a pity there hadn’t been a gentleman like me around to show proper appreciation for their efforts—with something to drink.
Another added that the thirst they had worked up had been so great that even after all this time they still remembered it.
Naturally, before I left, I made sure to settle that complaint properly.
The next morning, the station master gave me a letter of introduction to his old colleague at King’s Cross.
When I arrived in London, the King’s Cross station master immediately connected me with the appropriate officials.
Their records matched the original invoice exactly.
There had been fewer opportunities for the workers to develop a serious thirst there, but they had apparently made excellent use of the opportunities they did have.
Once again, I found myself settling the matter afterward.
From there, I went to Carter Paterson’s central office.
Everyone treated me with great courtesy.
They checked their records and immediately contacted their King’s Cross office for more information.
Fortunately, the men who had transported the boxes were waiting for work.
An official sent them to me, along with the delivery papers and all the documents connected with the shipment to Carfax.
Once again, the numbers matched perfectly.
The workers could add a few details that weren’t included in the paperwork.
Most of those details concerned how dusty and exhausting the job had been—and how thirsty it had made them.
After giving them a little financial encouragement, one of the men finally told me what the house was like.
“That house, sir, is the strangest place I’ve ever worked in.”
“Good Lord, it looked like nobody had touched it for a hundred years.”
“There was so much dust that you could have slept on the floor without hurting yourself.”
“The whole place was so neglected it smelled like an ancient tomb.”
“But the old chapel—that was the worst.”
“My mate and I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”
“I wouldn’t stay in that place after dark for less than a pound a minute.”
I had been inside the house myself, so I could easily believe him.
But if he had known what I knew, I think he would have demanded far more.
I was now certain of one thing.
All fifty boxes that had arrived at Whitby from Varna aboard the Demeter had been delivered to the old chapel at Carfax.
There should still be fifty of them there—unless some had already been moved.
From Dr. Seward’s diary, I feared that some had.
My next step would be to find the driver who had taken boxes away from Carfax when Renfield attacked the men.
If I could follow that clue, we might learn a great deal.
Later that day, Mina and I worked together until everything was organized.
I am so relieved that I can hardly contain myself.
I think it is because the terrible fear I had been carrying for Jonathan has finally eased.
I watched him leave for Whitby trying to look brave, but inside I was terrified that reopening those old memories would destroy him.
Instead, the opposite happened.
The journey seems to have made him stronger.
He has never been so determined, energetic, or full of fierce purpose.
Professor Van Helsing was right about him.
Jonathan has extraordinary strength, and pressure seems to bring out the best in him.
He returned full of hope and determination.
Now everything is ready for tonight.
I am almost overwhelmed with excitement.
Perhaps one should feel sorry for something that is being hunted so relentlessly.
But this creature is not human.
It is not even truly an animal.
After reading Dr. Seward’s account of Lucy’s death and what happened afterward, I find that I have no pity left for the Count.
Later, Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris arrived earlier than we expected.
Dr. Seward was away on business and had taken Jonathan with him, so I had to receive them myself.
It was painful to see them.
Their presence brought back all the hopes and plans poor Lucy had once had.
They had both heard Lucy speak about me.
It also seemed that Dr. Van Helsing had praised me enthusiastically, just as Mr. Morris put it, “blown my trumpet.”
Neither of them knew that I already knew about the proposals they had once made to Lucy.
Since they had no idea how much I knew, they didn’t know what to say.
So we talked about harmless subjects.
But I thought carefully about the situation.
I decided the best thing was to tell them exactly where we stood.
From Dr. Seward’s diary, I knew that both men had been present when Lucy truly died.
So I didn’t have to worry about revealing anything that should remain secret.
I told them that I had read all the papers and diaries.
Jonathan and I had typed everything and had just finished putting it all in order.
I gave each man a copy and asked them to read it in the library.
Lord Godalming looked at the thick stack of papers.
“Did you write all of this, Mrs. Harker?”
I nodded.
He looked uncertainly at the pages.
“I don’t completely understand what all this means.”
“But you and the others have been working so hard, and you are all such good people.”
“So I suppose the only thing I can do is trust you and try to help.”
“I’ve already learned one lesson about accepting things that seem impossible. It should make a man humble for the rest of his life.”
He paused.
“And I know you loved my poor Lucy.”
His voice broke.
He turned away and covered his face with his hands.
I could hear the tears in his voice.
Mr. Morris immediately understood that he needed privacy.
Without saying anything, he briefly placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder and quietly left the room.
There seemed to be something in a woman’s nature that allowed a grieving man to show his emotions without feeling ashamed.
Once we were alone, Arthur sat down on the sofa and finally allowed himself to break down.
I sat beside him and took his hand.
“I loved dear Lucy too,” I said.
“I know what she meant to you, and I know what you meant to her.”
“She and I were like sisters.”
“Now that she is gone, won’t you let me be like a sister to you while you are grieving?”
“I know you have suffered terribly, though I cannot know the full depth of it.”
“If sympathy can ease even a little of your pain, please let me help you—for Lucy’s sake.”
My words overwhelmed him.
It seemed that all the grief he had been holding inside for so long finally burst free.
He became almost hysterical.
He raised his hands and brought his palms together again and again in helpless grief.
He stood up, then sat down again.
Tears streamed down his face.
I felt such deep pity for him that I opened my arms without thinking.
With a sob, he rested his head on my shoulder and cried like an exhausted child.
His whole body shook with emotion.
There is something deeply maternal in a woman.
When that instinct is awakened, small social boundaries seem meaningless.
As I held this large, grieving man against me, I suddenly thought of the child I might one day hold in the same way.
I gently stroked his hair as though he were my own son.
At the time, I didn’t think about how strange the situation might seem.
After a while, his crying stopped.
He sat up and apologized, though he made no attempt to hide his feelings.
“For days and nights,” he said, “I have been carrying this grief alone.”
“I haven’t been able to talk to anyone the way a man needs to talk when his heart is broken.”
“There was no woman I could turn to for sympathy.”
“And because of the terrible circumstances surrounding Lucy’s death, I couldn’t speak freely to anyone.”
He wiped his eyes.
“I understand now how much I have suffered.”
“But I still don’t know—and perhaps no one ever will—how much your kindness has meant to me today.”
“Perhaps I will understand it better with time.”
“I am grateful now, but I think my gratitude will grow as I realize what you’ve done for me.”
“Will you let me think of you as a sister for the rest of our lives?”
“For dear Lucy’s sake?”
“For dear Lucy’s sake,” I answered as we clasped hands.
He looked at me.
“And for your own sake too.”
“If a man’s respect and gratitude are worth earning, you have certainly earned mine today.”
“If there ever comes a time when you need a man’s help, remember that you can call on me.”
“I pray that such a time never comes and that nothing ever darkens your happiness.”
“But if it does, promise me you will tell me.”
He spoke with such sincerity, and his grief was still so raw, that I knew my promise would comfort him.
“I promise.”
As I walked down the corridor, I saw Mr. Morris standing by a window.
He turned when he heard me.
“How is Art?”
Then he noticed my red eyes.
“Ah. I see you’ve been comforting him.”
“Poor old fellow. He needs it.”
“No one can comfort a man when his heart is broken quite like a woman can.”
“And he has had no one to comfort him.”
He had carried his own grief so bravely that my heart ached for him too.
I noticed the manuscript in his hand.
I knew that once he read it, he would understand how much I already knew.
So I said,
“I wish I could comfort everyone who is suffering.”
“Will you let me be your friend too?”
“If you ever need someone to talk to, will you come to me?”
“Later, you will understand why I am saying this.”
He saw that I was sincere.
He took my hand, bent down, and kissed it.
It seemed like such a small comfort for someone so brave and selfless.
Without thinking, I leaned forward and kissed him.
Tears appeared in his eyes.
For a moment, his throat tightened.
Then he said calmly,
“Little girl, you will never regret showing that kind of kindness for as long as you live.”
He went into the study to join his friend.
“Little girl.”
Those were the same words he had once used for Lucy.
And once again, he proved himself to be a true friend.