29 September, in train to London.--When I received
Mr. Billington's courteous message that he would give me
any information in his power I thought it best to go down
to Whitby and make, on the spot, such inquiries as I wanted.
It was now my object to trace that horrid cargo of the Count's
to its place in London. Later, we may be able to deal with it.
Billington junior, a nice lad, met me at the station, and brought
me to his father's house, where they had decided that I must spend
the night. They are hospitable, with true Yorkshire hospitality,
give a guest everything and leave him to do as he likes.
They all knew that I was busy, and that my stay was short,
and Mr. Billington had ready in his office all the papers
concerning the consignment of boxes. It gave me almost a turn
to see again one of the letters which I had seen on the Count's
table before I knew of his diabolical plans. Everything had been
carefully thought out, and done systematically and with precision.
He seemed to have been prepared for every obstacle which
might be placed by accident in the way of his intentions
being carried out. To use and Americanism, he had ‘taken no
chances', and the absolute accuracy with which his instructions
were fulfilled was simply the logical result of his care.
I saw the invoice, and took note of it.‘Fifty cases of
common earth, to be used for experimental purposes'. Also
the copy of the letter to Carter Paterson, and their reply.
Of both these I got copies. This was all the information
Mr. Billington could give me, so I went down to the port and saw
the coastguards, the Customs Officers and the harbor master,
who kindly put me in communication with the men who had actually
received the boxes. Their tally was exact with the list,
and they had nothing to add to the simple description ‘fifty
cases of common earth', except that the boxes were ‘main
and mortal heavy', and that shifting them was dry work.
One of them added that it was hard lines that there wasn't
any gentleman ‘such like as like yourself, squire', to show
some sort of appreciation of their efforts in a liquid form.
Another put in a rider that the thirst then generated was such
that even the time which had elapsed had not completely allayed it.
Needless to add, I took care before leaving to lift,
forever and adequately, this source of reproach.
30 September.--The station master was good enough to give me a line to his
old companion the station master at King's Cross, so that when I arrived
there in the morning I was able to ask him about the arrival of the boxes.
He, too put me at once in communication with the proper officials,
and I saw that their tally was correct with the original invoice.
The opportunities of acquiring an abnormal thirst had been here limited.
A noble use of them had, however, been made, and again I was compelled
to deal with the result in ex post facto manner.
From thence I went to Carter Paterson's central office,
where I met with the utmost courtesy. They looked up
the transaction in their day book and letter book, and at once
telephoned to their King's Cross office for more details.
By good fortune, the men who did the teaming were waiting
for work, and the official at once sent them over,
sending also by one of them the way-bill and all the papers
connected with the delivery of the boxes at Carfax.
Here again I found the tally agreeing exactly. The carriers'
men were able to supplement the paucity of the written words
with a few more details. These were, I shortly found,
connected almost solely with the dusty nature of the job,
and the consequent thirst engendered in the operators.
On my affording an opportunity, through the medium of the
currency of the realm, of the allaying, at a later period,
this beneficial evil, one of the men remarked,
"That ‘ere ‘ouse, guv'nor, is the rummiest I ever
was in. Blyme! But it ain't been touched sence a hundred years.
There was dust that thick in the place that you might have slep'
on it without ‘urtin' of yer bones. An' the place was that
neglected that yer might ‘ave smelled ole Jerusalem in it.
But the old chapel, that took the cike, that did!
Me and my mate, we thort we wouldn't never git out quick enough.
Lor', I wouldn't take less nor a quid a moment to stay
there arter dark."
Having been in the house, I could well believe him, but if he knew
what I know, he would, I think have raised his terms.
Of one thing I am now satisfied. That all those boxes which arrived at Whitby
from Varna in the Demeter were safely deposited in the old chapel at Carfax.
There should be fifty of them there, unless any have since been removed,
as from Dr. Seward's diary I fear.
Later.--Mina and I have worked all day, and we have put all
the papers into order.
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL
30 September.--I am so glad that I hardly know how to contain myself.
It is, I suppose, the reaction from the haunting fear which I have had,
that this terrible affair and the reopening of his old wound
might act detrimentally on Jonathan. I saw him leave for Whitby
with as brave a face as could, but I was sick with apprehension.
The effort has, however, done him good. He was never so resolute,
never so strong, never so full of volcanic energy, as at present.
It is just as that dear, good Professor Van Helsing said, he is true grit,
and he improves under strain that would kill a weaker nature. He came
back full of life and hope and determination. We have got everything
in order for tonight. I feel myself quite wild with excitement.
I suppose one ought to pity anything so hunted as the Count.
That is just it. This thing is not human, not even a beast.
To read Dr. Seward's account of poor Lucy's death, and what followed,
is enough to dry up the springs of pity in one's heart.
Later.--Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris arrived earlier than we expected.
Dr. Seward was out on business, and had taken Jonathan with him,
so I had to see them. It was to me a painful meeting, for it
brought back all poor dear Lucy's hopes of only a few months ago.
Of course they had heard Lucy speak of me, and it seemed that
Dr. Van Helsing, too, had been quite ‘blowing my trumpet', as Mr. Morris
expressed it. Poor fellows, neither of them is aware that I know
all about the proposals they made to Lucy. They did not quite know
what to say or do, as they were ignorant of the amount of my knowledge.
So they had to keep on neutral subjects. However, I thought
the matter over, and came to the conclusion that the best thing
I could do would be to post them on affairs right up to date.
I knew from Dr. Seward's diary that they had been at Lucy's death,
her real death, and that I need not fear to betray any secret
before the time. So I told them, as well as I could, that I
had read all the papers and diaries, and that my husband and I,
having typewritten them, had just finished putting them in order.
I gave them each a copy to read in the library. When Lord Godalming
got his and turned it over, it does make a pretty good pile, he said,
"Did you write all this, Mrs. Harker?"
I nodded, and he went on.
"I don't quite see the drift of it, but you people are all so good
and kind, and have been working so earnestly and so energetically,
that all I can do is to accept your ideas blindfold and try to help you.
I have had one lesson already in accepting facts that should make a man
humble to the last hour of his life. Besides, I know you loved my Lucy.
.."
Here he turned away and covered his face with his hands.
I could hear the tears in his voice. Mr. Morris,
with instinctive delicacy, just laid a hand for a moment
on his shoulder, and then walked quietly out of the room.
I suppose there is something in a woman's nature that makes
a man free to break down before her and express his feelings
on the tender or emotional side without feeling it derogatory
to his manhood. For when Lord Godalming found himself alone
with me he sat down on the sofa and gave way utterly and openly.
I sat down beside him and took his hand. I hope he didn't think
it forward of me, and that if her ever thinks of it afterwards
he never will have such a thought. There I wrong him.
I know he never will. He is too true a gentleman.
I said to him, for I could see that his heart was breaking,
"I loved dear Lucy, and I know what she was to you, and what you
were to her. She and I were like sisters, and now she is gone,
will you not let me be like a sister to you in your trouble?
I know what sorrows you have had, though I cannot measure the depth
of them. If sympathy and pity can help in your affliction,
won't you let me be of some little service, for Lucy's sake?"
In an instant the poor dear fellow was overwhelmed with grief.
It seemed to me that all that he had of late been suffering in silence
found a vent at once. He grew quite hysterical, and raising his
open hands, beat his palms together in a perfect agony of grief.
He stood up and then sat down again, and the tears rained down his cheeks.
I felt an infinite pity for him, and opened my arms unthinkingly.
With a sob he laid his head on my shoulder and cried like a wearied child,
whilst he shook with emotion.
We women have something of the mother in us that makes us rise
above smaller matters when the mother spirit is invoked.
I felt this big sorrowing man's head resting on me, as though
it were that of a baby that some day may lie on my bosom,
and I stroked his hair as though he were my own child.
I never thought at the time how strange it all was.
After a little bit his sobs ceased, and he raised himself with an apology,
though he made no disguise of his emotion. He told me that for days
and nights past, weary days and sleepless nights, he had been unable
to speak with any one, as a man must speak in his time of sorrow.
There was no woman whose sympathy could be given to him, or with whom,
owing to the terrible circumstance with which his sorrow was surrounded,
he could speak freely.
"I know now how I suffered," he said, as he dried his eyes,
"but I do not know even yet, and none other can ever know,
how much your sweet sympathy has been to me today.
I shall know better in time, and believe me that, though I am
not ungrateful now, my gratitude will grow with my understanding.
You will let me be like a brother, will you not, for all our lives,
for dear Lucy's sake?"
"For dear Lucy's sake," I said as we clasped hands."Ay,
and for your own sake," he added, "for if a man's esteem and
gratitude are ever worth the winning, you have won mine today.
If ever the future should bring to you a time when you
need a man's help, believe me, you will not call in vain.
God grant that no such time may ever come to you to break
the sunshine of your life, but if it should ever come,
promise me that you will let me know."
He was so earnest, and his sorrow was so fresh, that I felt
it would comfort him, so I said, "I promise."
As I came along the corridor I say Mr. Morris looking out of a window.
He turned as he heard my footsteps. "How is Art?" he said. Then noticing
my red eyes, he went on, "Ah, I see you have been comforting him.
Poor old fellow! He needs it. No one but a woman can help a man
when he is in trouble of the heart, and he had no one to comfort him."
He bore his own trouble so bravely that my heart bled for him.
I saw the manuscript in his hand, and I knew that when he read
it he would realize how much I knew, so I said to him, "I wish I
could comfort all who suffer from the heart. Will you let me be
your friend, and will you come to me for comfort if you need it?
You will know later why I speak."
He saw that I was in earnest, and stooping, took my hand, and raising
it to his lips, kissed it. It seemed but poor comfort to so brave
and unselfish a soul, and impulsively I bent over and kissed him.
The tears rose in his eyes, and there was a momentary choking
in his throat. He said quite calmly, "Little girl, you will never
forget that true hearted kindness, so long as ever you live!"
Then he went into the study to his friend.
"Little girl!" The very words he had used to Lucy, and, oh, but he proved
himself a friend.