I am exhausted tonight. If keeping this diary were not a promise I made to myself, I probably would not write a word.
Lucy and I had a wonderful walk today. After a while she became cheerful again, especially when a group of cows came sniffing toward us near the lighthouse and scared us both half to death.
For a while, we forgot everything except the immediate danger of being chased by cows. Somehow, that silly fright seemed to clear our minds and give us both a fresh start.
We stopped at a charming old inn in Robin Hood’s Bay and had a very hearty tea. The little dining room had a beautiful bay window overlooking the rocks covered with seaweed.
I am sure some of the so-called “New Women” would have been shocked by how much we ate.
Men are much more forgiving about things like that!
Afterward, we walked home, stopping many times to rest. We were still nervously watching for wild cattle.
Lucy was completely worn out, and we planned to go straight to bed.
Unfortunately, the young curate came to visit, and Mrs. Westenra asked him to stay for supper.
Lucy and I exchanged a look.
We both silently wished he would leave.
I had to fight hard to stay awake through the meal. I think I deserve some kind of medal for surviving it.
Perhaps one day the bishops should create a new kind of curate—one who refuses supper when girls are obviously exhausted and knows when it is time to go home.
Lucy is asleep now and breathing peacefully.
There is more color in her cheeks tonight, and she looks so sweet.
If Mr. Holmwood fell in love with her after seeing her only in the drawing room, I wonder what he would think if he could see her now.
Perhaps someday the “New Women” will decide that men and women should be allowed to see each other sleeping before either one agrees to marriage.
Although, knowing them, they will probably refuse to wait for a proposal and propose themselves.
That would certainly cause some trouble!
Still, I am happy tonight because Lucy seems so much better.
I truly believe she has passed the worst of her troubles.
If only I knew that Jonathan was safe.
God bless him and keep him.
I fell asleep almost immediately after writing those words.
But I did not sleep for long.
I suddenly woke with a terrible feeling of fear.
The room was completely dark. I reached toward Lucy’s bed.
It was empty.
I struck a match.
Lucy was gone.
The door was closed but unlocked, exactly as I had left it.
I did not want to wake her mother, who had been unusually ill lately, so I quickly dressed and began searching the house.
I wondered whether Lucy’s clothes might tell me where she had gone.
If she had put on her dressing gown, she might still be somewhere inside the house.
If she had dressed properly, she might have gone outside.
But both were still where she had left them.
“Thank God,” I whispered. “She can’t have gone far. She’s only wearing her nightdress.”
I ran downstairs.
She wasn’t in the sitting room.
I searched every room that was open.
Nothing.
My fear grew with every moment.
Then I reached the front door.
It was slightly open.
The lock had not caught.
Everyone in the house was careful to lock the door at night.
Lucy must have gone outside.
I grabbed a large shawl and hurried into the street.
The clock was striking one.
There wasn’t a single person outside.
I ran along the North Terrace, desperately searching for the white figure I expected to see.
When I reached the edge of the West Cliff, I looked across the harbor toward the East Cliff.
Perhaps Lucy had somehow returned to our favorite seat.
A bright full moon was shining, although heavy black clouds were racing across the sky.
For a moment, a cloud covered St. Mary’s Church and the churchyard.
Then the cloud moved away.
The ruins of the Abbey appeared again.
The moonlight slowly spread across the church and churchyard.
And then I saw her.
Lucy was sitting on our favorite seat, almost lying down.
Her white nightdress shone brightly in the moonlight.
But there was something else there.
Behind the seat stood a dark shape.
It seemed to be bending over her.
I couldn’t tell whether it was a man or an animal.
Before I could see more, another cloud covered the moon.
I ran down the steep steps toward the pier.
Then I hurried past the fish market and across the bridge, the only route to the East Cliff.
The town seemed completely deserted.
Strangely, I was grateful for that.
I didn’t want anyone to see Lucy in such a state.
The journey seemed endless.
My knees were trembling, and I could barely catch my breath as I climbed the long steps toward the Abbey.
Although I was moving as fast as I could, my feet felt like they were made of lead.
Near the top, I could see the seat again.
Lucy was still there.
And now I could clearly see the dark figure bending over her.
I cried out:
“Lucy! Lucy!”
The figure suddenly raised its head.
For a brief moment, I saw a white face and two red, shining eyes.
Lucy did not answer.
I rushed into the churchyard.
The church briefly blocked my view of the seat.
When I could see it again, the cloud had moved away, and the moon was shining brightly.
Lucy was alone.
There was no sign of the dark figure.
I hurried to her.
She was still asleep.
Her lips were slightly open, and she was breathing heavily, taking long, desperate breaths as though she could never get enough air.
As I bent over her, she raised one hand in her sleep and pulled her nightdress tightly around her throat.
A shiver passed through her.
She seemed cold.
I immediately wrapped my warm shawl around her and pulled it tightly around her neck.
I was afraid the cold night air would make her ill.
I needed both hands free to help her, so I fastened the shawl with a large safety pin.
I must have been too clumsy because I accidentally caught her skin with it.
After a while, when her breathing became calmer, she touched her throat and moaned.
Once she was properly covered, I put my shoes onto her bare feet.
Then I gently tried to wake her.
At first she did not respond.
She began to stir, sighing and moaning softly.
Time was passing, and I desperately needed to get her home.
I shook her more firmly.
At last, her eyes opened.
She did not seem surprised to see me.
She was still too confused to understand where she was.
Even after waking in a freezing churchyard in the middle of the night, Lucy remained remarkably graceful.
She trembled and held onto me.
“Come with me,” I whispered. “We have to go home.”
She stood immediately and followed me like a child.
As we walked, the gravel hurt my bare feet.
Lucy noticed me flinch.
“You’ve lost your shoes,” she said.
She stopped and wanted me to take hers.
“No,” I said. “I’m fine.”
When we reached the path outside the churchyard, I found some muddy water left from the storm.
I stepped into it carefully, using one foot to cover the other with mud.
That way, if we met anyone on the way home, they would not notice that I was barefoot.
Fortunately, we met almost no one.
At one point, we saw a man who seemed slightly drunk walking down the street.
We quickly hid in a doorway until he disappeared into one of the narrow little lanes.
My heart was pounding so loudly that I thought I might faint.
I was worried about Lucy’s health after being outside in the cold.
But I was also terrified for her reputation.
If anyone learned what had happened, people might misunderstand the whole thing.
When we finally got home, we washed our feet and prayed together, thanking God that we had returned safely.
Then I tucked Lucy into bed.
Before she fell asleep, she caught my hand.
“Please don’t tell anyone about tonight.”
She looked at me anxiously.
“Not even Mother.”
I hesitated.
But then I thought about her mother’s fragile health.
Knowing about Lucy’s sleepwalking would only cause her more worry.
And if the story ever became known, I was certain people would exaggerate it and turn it into something terrible.
So I promised Lucy I would keep silent.
I hope I made the right choice.
I locked the door and tied the key to my wrist.
Lucy is sleeping peacefully now.
The first light of dawn is spreading far across the sea.
Later that morning, I found that everything seemed much better.
Lucy slept until I woke her.
She had hardly moved all night.
The strange adventure did not seem to have harmed her.
In fact, she looked better than she had in weeks.
There was more color in her cheeks.
I was upset when I saw the tiny injury on her throat caused by the safety pin.
Two little red marks remained, and there was a small spot of blood on her nightdress.
I must have caught a fold of loose skin and pierced it.
Fortunately, the wound was tiny.
“I am so sorry,” I told her.
Lucy laughed and patted my hand.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t even feel it.”
She assured me it would not leave a scar.
We spent a happy day together.
The weather was beautiful, with bright sunshine and a cool breeze.
We took lunch to Mulgrave Woods. Mrs. Westenra went by road, while Lucy and I walked along the cliff path and met her at the gate.
I was happy, but I could not stop thinking how much better everything would have been if Jonathan had been with me.
Still, I must be patient.
In the evening, Lucy and I walked along the Casino Terrace and listened to some beautiful music.
We went to bed early.
Lucy seemed calmer than she had been for some time and fell asleep immediately.
I locked the door and kept the key with me again.
I did not expect any trouble.
But I was wrong.
Twice during the night, I woke because Lucy was trying to get out of the room.
Even while asleep, she seemed annoyed that the door was locked.
Eventually she gave up and returned to bed.
At dawn, I woke to the sound of birds outside the window.
Lucy woke too.
To my relief, she looked even better than the day before.
Her cheerful personality had returned.
She snuggled up beside me and began talking about Arthur.
I told her how worried I was about Jonathan.
She tried to comfort me.
Her sympathy could not change what had happened, but it made my fear easier to bear.
The following day was quiet.
Again, I tied the key to my wrist before going to sleep.
During the night, I woke and found Lucy sitting upright in bed.
She was still asleep.
She was pointing toward the window.
I quietly got up and pulled the curtain aside.
The moon was shining brilliantly.
The moonlight spread over the sea and sky, making everything look like one enormous, silent mystery.
A huge bat flew between me and the moon.
It circled again and again.
Once or twice it came very close to the window before flying away across the harbor toward the Abbey.
When I returned to the bed, Lucy had already lain down again.
She was sleeping peacefully.
She did not move again for the rest of the night.
The next day, Lucy and I spent almost the entire day on the East Cliff, reading and writing.
She had become as attached to the place as I was.
It was difficult to persuade her to leave even when it was time to go home for lunch or tea.
That afternoon, we stopped at the top of the steps leading up from the West Pier to admire the view, as we often did.
The sun was setting behind Kettleness.
Its red light spread across the East Cliff and the old Abbey, covering everything in a warm golden glow.
We stood quietly for a while.
Then Lucy suddenly murmured:
“His red eyes again. They’re exactly the same.”
I was startled.
The remark seemed to come from nowhere.
I turned slightly and looked at her.
She seemed half asleep.
There was a strange expression on her face.
I said nothing.
Instead, I followed her gaze.
She was looking toward our favorite seat.
A dark figure was sitting there alone.
For an instant, I was frightened.
The stranger seemed to have enormous eyes that glowed like flames.
But when I looked again, I realized it was only an illusion.
The setting sun was shining on the windows of St. Mary’s Church behind the seat.
As the sun moved lower, the reflection shifted, making the light appear almost like glowing red eyes.
I pointed this out to Lucy.
She suddenly seemed to wake up.
But she still looked sad.
Perhaps she was remembering that terrible night.
We never talk about it, so I said nothing.
We went home for dinner.
Lucy had a headache and went to bed early.
I watched until she was asleep, then went out for a short walk.
As I walked along the western cliffs, my thoughts naturally turned to Jonathan.
When I returned, the moon was shining brightly.
Although the front of the Crescent was in shadow, I could see our house clearly.
I looked up toward our window.
Lucy was leaning out of it.
I thought perhaps she was looking for me.
I waved my handkerchief.
She did not move.
Then the moonlight shifted around the corner of the building and illuminated the window.
I saw Lucy clearly.
Her head was resting against the side of the window.
Her eyes were closed.
She was asleep.
But something else was sitting beside her on the windowsill.
It looked like a large bird.
I was afraid she would catch cold.
I hurried upstairs.
By the time I entered the room, Lucy was already moving back toward her bed.
She was still asleep and breathing heavily.
One hand was pressed against her throat, as if she were protecting it from the cold.
I did not wake her.
I simply tucked her into bed and made sure the door was locked and the window securely fastened.
She looked very sweet in sleep.
But she was paler than usual, and there were dark, tired shadows beneath her eyes.
I am beginning to fear that something is troubling her.
I only wish I knew what it was.
The next morning, I woke later than usual.
Lucy looked weak and tired and continued sleeping even after we were called for breakfast.
Then we received wonderful news.
Arthur’s father was feeling better and wanted the wedding to take place soon.
Lucy was quietly overjoyed.
Her mother was both happy and sad.
Later, she explained why.
She was heartbroken at the thought of losing Lucy after the marriage.
But she was also relieved that Lucy would soon have someone to protect and care for her.
Then she told me something she had never told Lucy.
She had been given very little time to live.
Her doctor believed her heart was failing and that she might die within a few months.
Even a sudden shock could kill her.
She made me promise not to tell Lucy.
I understood then how fortunate it had been that we kept the events of that terrible night secret.
A few days passed before I could bring myself to write again.
Something dark seemed to be hanging over our happiness.
There was still no news from Jonathan.
And Lucy was becoming weaker.
I could not understand it.
She ate well.
She slept well.
She enjoyed the fresh air.
Yet the color was slowly disappearing from her face.
Every day she became weaker and more tired.
At night I could hear her struggling for breath.
I kept the bedroom key tied to my wrist.
Even so, Lucy continued getting out of bed.
She would walk around the room and sit beside the open window.
Last night, I woke and found her leaning outside.
I tried to wake her.
She would not respond.
She had fainted.
When I finally brought her around, she was terribly weak.
She silently cried while struggling to breathe.
“How did you get to the window?” I asked.
She only shook her head and turned away.
I am afraid her illness may somehow be connected with that unlucky injury from the safety pin.
I examined her throat while she was asleep.
The tiny wounds have not healed.
In fact, they seem slightly larger.
The edges have turned faintly white.
They look like two tiny white spots with red centers.
If they do not heal within the next day or two, I will insist that a doctor examine them.
Meanwhile, another strange matter was taking place far away.
On 17 August, the Whitby solicitors Samuel F. Billington & Son sent instructions to Carter, Paterson & Co. in London.
They were sending fifty large boxes to Carfax, near Purfleet.
The house was empty, and the enclosed keys were clearly labeled.
The boxes were to be placed inside an old, partly ruined chapel on the property.
The solicitors paid ten pounds in advance and demanded that the delivery be made as quickly as possible.
The boxes were scheduled to leave by train that night and arrive at King’s Cross the following afternoon.
The delivery company was instructed to take them directly to Carfax and leave the keys inside the main hall.
A few days later, Carter, Paterson & Co. replied that the boxes had been delivered exactly as requested.
They returned the unused portion of the payment and confirmed that the keys had been left in the main hall.
On 18 August, I was happy again.
I am sitting in our usual seat in the churchyard as I write this.
Lucy is much better.
She slept through the entire night without disturbing me.
The color is already beginning to return to her cheeks, although she still looks unusually pale.
She is not suffering from anemia, so I cannot explain her weakness.
Today she is cheerful and full of energy.
The strange secrecy that had surrounded her seems to have disappeared.
She even brought up that terrible night herself.
We were sitting here on our old seat when she suddenly tapped her boot against the stone beneath it.
“My poor little feet didn’t make much noise that night,” she said playfully.
Then she laughed.
“I suppose old Mr. Swales would have said I was trying not to wake Geordie.”
Since she was willing to talk about it, I asked:
“Did you dream anything that night?”
She frowned slightly.
It was the sweet little expression Arthur loves so much.
Then she began trying to remember.
“I don’t think it was exactly a dream,” she said. “It all seemed real.”
“What do you remember?”
“I remember wanting to come here.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I was frightened of something, but I don’t know what.”
She paused.
“I remember walking through the streets and crossing the bridge. I think I was asleep, but everything seemed real.”
“What happened then?”
“A fish jumped out of the water. I leaned over to look at it.”
She shivered slightly.
“And I heard dogs.”
“Dogs?”
“So many of them. It sounded as if every dog in the town was howling at once.”
She looked toward the Abbey.
“I remember climbing the steps. Then I saw something long and dark.”
“What did it look like?”
“I don’t know. It had red eyes.”
I felt a chill.
Lucy continued speaking as though she were still dreaming.
“There was something sweet and something bitter around me at the same time.”
“Then what happened?”
“I seemed to sink into deep green water.”
Her voice became softer.
“I heard a strange singing in my ears, like the sound people hear when they are drowning.”
I listened without interrupting.
“Then everything began disappearing. I felt as if my soul had left my body and was floating in the air.”
She closed her eyes.
“I remember the West Lighthouse being directly beneath me.”
“That must have been terrifying.”
“Yes. Then everything shook. It felt like an earthquake.”
She opened her eyes.
“And then I came back.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw you shaking me.”
She gave a small smile.
“I saw you before I could actually feel you.”
Then she laughed.
I found the whole story deeply unsettling.
I did not want her thinking about it any longer, so I changed the subject.
Soon Lucy was talking and laughing like her old self again.
The fresh sea air seemed to strengthen her.
By the time we returned home, more color had returned to her cheeks.
Her mother was delighted to see her looking so well.
That evening, we were all happy together.
And then, at last, I received the news I had been praying for.
Jonathan was alive.
He had been seriously ill.
That was why he had not written.
I could hardly believe my happiness.
Mr. Hawkins had sent me a letter and written to me with such kindness.
I am to leave tomorrow and travel to Jonathan.
If necessary, I will nurse him myself and bring him home.
Mr. Hawkins even suggested that perhaps we should marry there.
I cried over Sister Agatha’s letter until it became damp against my chest.
It was about Jonathan.
It felt right to keep it close to my heart because he is already there.
My journey is planned.
My luggage is ready.
I am taking only one change of clothes.
Lucy will bring my trunk to London and keep it there until I ask for it.
There is something I want to say to Jonathan, but I must save it for when I see him.
Perhaps I should write no more tonight.
The letter he has seen and touched will be enough to comfort me until we meet.
Sister Agatha wrote that Jonathan had been under their care for almost six weeks.
He had suffered from a severe brain fever but was now recovering well.
He had been too weak to write himself, so she was writing on his behalf.
Jonathan wanted Mr. Hawkins to know that he was sorry for the delay and that all his work had been completed.
He would need several more weeks of rest at the hospital in the hills before returning home.
He had very little money with him and wanted to pay for his stay so that the hospital’s resources could remain available for people who needed them.
Sister Agatha added a private note.
Jonathan had told her all about me.
He had told her that I was soon to become his wife.
She warned me that he had suffered a terrible shock.
During his fever, he had raved about wolves, poison, blood, ghosts, and demons.
She urged me to be very careful with him.
“His mind has been through a terrible illness,” she explained, “and it will take time for him to recover completely.”
She said they had not been able to contact his friends because they knew nothing about them.
Jonathan had arrived by train from Klausenburgh.
He had rushed into the station demanding a ticket home.
Because his behavior was so violent, the railway staff realized he was English and gave him a ticket for the farthest station they could send him toward home.
Sister Agatha assured me that Jonathan was receiving excellent care.
Everyone there had grown fond of him because of his gentle nature.
She believed that within a few weeks he would be himself again.
She ended by praying that Jonathan and I would have many happy years together.
That same night, something very strange happened at Dr. Seward’s asylum.
Renfield suddenly changed.
At about eight o’clock, he became extremely excited.
He began sniffing the air like a dog searching for something.
The attendant noticed his strange behavior and encouraged him to talk.
Renfield was normally respectful toward the attendant.
Sometimes he was almost overly submissive.
But tonight he acted as if the man were beneath him.
He refused to speak to him.
The only thing he said was:
“I don’t want to talk to you. You don’t matter anymore. The Master is near.”
The attendant believed Renfield had developed some kind of religious obsession.
That worried me.
A strong man suffering from both religious and violent delusions could be extremely dangerous.
At nine o’clock, I went to see him myself.
He treated me exactly as he had treated the attendant.
To Renfield, there seemed to be no difference between a doctor and an ordinary attendant.
He appeared to believe that he was somehow above all other human beings.
I watched him carefully for more than half an hour.
He became increasingly excited.
Then suddenly his expression changed.
I recognized the look.
It was the same strange, restless look I had seen whenever he became obsessed with a new idea.
Then, just as suddenly, he became completely quiet.
He sat on the edge of his bed and stared blankly into space.
I wanted to test whether his silence was genuine.
So I mentioned his pets.
Normally, that subject immediately caught his attention.
This time he barely reacted.
“Forget them,” he said irritably. “I don’t care about them anymore.”
I was surprised.
“You don’t care about your spiders?”
His spiders were still his main obsession, and his notebook was filled with columns of numbers about them.
He looked at me strangely.
“The bridesmaids are happy while they are waiting for the bride,” he said. “But when the bride finally arrives, they no longer matter.”
He refused to explain what he meant.
He simply sat there in silence until I left.
I was exhausted and depressed that night.
I kept thinking about Lucy and about how different my life might have been.
I considered taking chloral hydrate to help me sleep.
But then I stopped myself.
I did not want to become dependent on it.
More importantly, I thought of Lucy.
I could not bring myself to dishonor what I felt for her by using a drug to escape my thoughts.
“If necessary,” I told myself, “I will stay awake all night.”
I was glad I made that decision.
I had been lying awake for some time when the night watchman suddenly came to tell me that Renfield had escaped.
I immediately got dressed and ran downstairs.
Renfield was far too dangerous to be wandering outside.
The attendant was waiting for me.
“He looked asleep less than ten minutes ago,” he said. “I saw him through the observation opening.”
“What happened?”
“I heard the window being forced open. When I came back, I saw his feet disappearing through it.”
“He was wearing only his nightclothes?”
“Yes.”
“Then he can’t be far away.”
The attendant explained that Renfield had gone left and was heading in a straight line.
He suggested watching where Renfield went instead of trying to follow him through the building.
The attendant was too large to climb through the window.
I was thinner, so with his help I climbed out feet first and landed safely on the ground.
I ran through the trees.
Then I saw a white figure climbing over the high wall separating our grounds from the abandoned Carfax property.
I immediately returned and ordered the watchman to gather several men.
“We’re going after him,” I said. “He could be dangerous.”
I found a ladder, climbed over the wall, and dropped into the Carfax grounds.
Renfield’s figure disappeared around the corner of the old house.
I followed.
On the far side, I found him pressed against the ancient oak door of the chapel.
He seemed to be talking to someone.
I did not go too close at first.
I was afraid that if I frightened him, he would run again.
Chasing a swarm of bees would have been easier than following a naked madman determined to escape.
After a few minutes, I realized he was completely absorbed in whatever he believed was in front of him.
So I moved closer.
By then, my men had crossed the wall and were surrounding him.
I heard Renfield say:
“I am here to obey you, Master.”
“I am your servant.”
“You will reward me because I have been faithful.”
“I have worshipped you from far away for a long time.”
“Now that you are near, I am waiting for your orders.”
“You won’t forget me when you give your followers your gifts, will you, Master?”
Even in the middle of his madness, Renfield was thinking about what he could gain.
His obsessions were becoming more frighteningly complicated.
When we finally moved in to restrain him, he fought with incredible strength.
He attacked like a wild animal.
I have never seen a madman in such a violent rage.
It was fortunate that we discovered his physical strength before he had the chance to harm someone.
He is safely locked up now.
Even the strongest man could not escape the restraints holding him.
He has been placed in a padded room and chained to the wall.
Sometimes his screams are horrifying.
But the silence that follows is even worse.
There is something murderous in every movement he makes.
A short while ago, he finally spoke clearly for the first time.
“I will be patient, Master.”
He paused.
“It is coming.”
Then again:
“Coming.”
And once more:
“Coming.”
I understood what he meant.
Something was coming.
I was too excited to sleep, so I wrote everything down.
Now that I have finished, I feel calmer.
Perhaps I can finally sleep tonight.