Blood to Blood (9 page)

She stepped back to undo the laces on the bodice of her gown, leaving him with a sense of loss that he was out of her arms.

Was this how Mina had felt when the other… ?

He looked past the vampire woman toward the house, and saw the huge black form of a wolf slink through the doors he had left open.

"Mina!" he screamed and tried to run past the woman.

She grabbed his arm but he continued an ineffective struggle, crying out her name again and again, "Mina! Mina!"

"Shhh, Jonathan. Hush. It's all right. I'm here."

The vampire woman released her hold as Mina tightened hers. He felt his wife's hair, soft against his face, scented with lavender water. "I'm such a bother," he whispered.

"I'm glad you were here so that I could help you," she whispered, her breath warm against his icy skin.

He expected her to push away from him, but she seemed as reluctant to leave as he was to let her go. Instead, she stretched out beside him, pulling a quilt around both of them and pressing close. "You're so cold," she said.

"It was the woman. That creature." He felt her shiver and tried to reassure her. "It was only a dream, but so vivid. When she touched me, she seemed to steal all the warmth from me. She was—"

Mina touched her finger to his lips, silencing him. "It's all right," she said.

Caught up in the dream and the passion it had aroused, he kissed her once, then again. She responded with a fervor he had rarely felt in her before, one she had probably learned from the master of this house. Did he care? Should he? She was here because he had been dreaming of another—fantastic, yes, but the creature's effect was no less real.

He moved back to give Mina room. As he did, he saw a flicker of light from the front hallway, the serving woman's white face. She retreated without a word.

She reminded him of where he was, and the uncertain future he and his wife faced. Passion somewhat quelled, he nonetheless held Mina close, relishing the lavender scent and the familiar shape of her against him.

Mina seemed content to lie beside him, silent but close as he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke in the morning, she was gone. He could hear her and her servant—Essie, was it?—talking softly in the kitchen, trying not to wake him.

Now that it was daylight and he was alone, he studied the opulence of his surroundings—the thick, crimson oriental rugs that softened the slate floor. The glass and iron table perfectly sized for an intimate meal. The tapestry-covered divan on which he'd spent the night was wide enough to sleep two. The—

"Stop it!" he whispered and moved to the doorway.

It would be polite to greet his wife, to say hello to her servant. But he was not thinking of politeness anymore. Rather, he wanted to find a bathroom and do what needed to be done to get him out of this place before he saw anything more. With that in mind, he started up the stairs.

It was the scent that made his mind return to thoughts best ignored—the melange of old tobacco and ladies' perfume. Scents of ballrooms and the hotel restaurants where his mother would take him for a plate lunch when she "felt flush" and wanted to "explore how the better class dines."

Aunt Millicent had called their lunches a foolish waste of time and money, but Mother had been the one to teach him how to sit properly at a table, how to use a fork and knife and napkin like a gentleman. He suspected that the training had impressed Mr. Hawkins as much as his conscientiousness, and both had led to his good fortune.

Mina had found a swifter way to an even richer end.

Not that she had intended it, of course. He had to remember to tell her this as soon as he could. Perhaps he could get her to give up the house, rent it out or better yet sell it and transfer the money to Winnie's charity or some other good cause. He'd have to suggest this gently, move slowly. But if she would agree to the sale, then they could be recon—

The happy idea fled when he reached the top of the stairs and saw the bedroom—its excesses in color and decadence the antithesis of everything a proper gentleman would provide for his wife.

He walked through it, touching the wine-red curtains, feeling the carpet soft and thick even through the hard soles of his shoes. He noted the rich wood of the fireplace, the carvings on the mantel, the red flocked paper on the walls, the tall mahogany posts of the huge bed, the brocade quilt beneath the lace coverlet folded back to reveal its black satin lining.

He looked up at the bed's canopy, at the mirror beneath it, then at the cheval mirror near the far wall, angled to reflect the firelight on whomever slept in that bed.

He laughed without mirth. Sleeping was hardly the idea.

How could she have gone with such a man? He was outraged at the thought, wounded and yet—he could feel himself responding to a vision of her here. He felt a fluttering in his stomach, the sudden pressure against the seam of his pants.

A glance in the bathroom mirror was enough to make him realize that he needed to go home before he went to the office. His beard had smudged his face. His shirt was wrinkled, and he needed a bath. He turned on the faucet, splashed water on his face.

As he dried off he noticed the tub, big enough for two, the little table beside it filled with dainty soaps and bottles of oil.

Not Mina's, or if they were, he had never noticed them before.

"There's a razor in the cupboard," someone—Mina—said.

Startled, he jumped at the sound of her voice and turned to face his wife. He could feel the heat of his flushed face, as if he had been caught going through her things.

"I haven't gotten around to sorting through what was left here," she explained. "If you draw a bath, Essie can press the shirt for you, or I could find you a clean one."

He wanted to say that he would leave. It was the polite thing to do. But his office was a long walk from here, their home a far longer one. She was only being practical.

"See what you can do with this one." He took it off and handed it to her and began to run the water.

He was surprised to feel how warm it was—spring-fed, given the clarity and pressure. He undressed quickly. Once in the tub, he lay back and shut his eyes. Half dreaming, he seemed to look out the door at the dimly lit bedroom beyond it and thought he saw not Mina or Gance, but the vampire women from the castle. Seductive memories, made even more seductive by the horror of them and their sudden resurrection at the most inopportune times.

Today, at least, they kept their distance, and he drifted slowly into a deeper sleep until Mina's arrival jarred him awake.

She carried a tray of biscuits and jam, a pot of tea and a pair of cups. "I'd like to sit with you awhile if you don't mind," she said. "I thought that we could compose the telegram to Van Helsing together."

He wanted to tell her that her presence was unseemly, but of course it wasn't. She was his wife, he reminded himself, more his wife now than she had been in weeks. They were allies again, and it pleased him.

She brought her little writing box from the bedroom, pulled out pen and ink and was soon hard at work setting down Jonathan's jumbled thoughts.

After Jonathan had gone, Mina sat for some time and considered how to deal with Essie. It seemed to her that she had acted rashly when she'd hired a servant. At the time she had been so pleased with her choice that it never occurred to her that she might be putting the girl into some danger. At the very least, she had to warn Essie about what she might face.

She tried to begin a few times that morning, but was always interrupted before she began—first by delivery of her china and linens, second by a cartload of supplies for the addition, then by the carpenters themselves. So she waited until late afternoon, when the workers had gone and they were alone, then asked Essie to join her for tea in the garden.

Essie put down the polishing cloth she'd been using on the new dinnerware and followed Mina outside. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

"Not exactly, but there are some things we need to discuss. It concerns my husband's visit last night."

Essie blushed. "It's hardly my place—" she began.

"In this case, it is." Mina motioned for her to sit down and poured them both a cup of tea. Essie's innate discretion made it difficult to begin the conversation, so Mina decided to simply tell it all.

"A little over year ago, Jonathan was sent to Romania on behalf of his employer," she began.

She continued, leaving out only the most lurid details. She didn't want to frighten her servant, though it had been her observation that servants often had far hardier spirits than those they served.

"What an adventure! Just like old Varney!" Essie exclaimed when she was done.

"You've read those stories?" Mina asked.

Essie frowned. "I
can
read," she said. "I wasn't always in London. My village had a school. I went six years before my family gave up the land and moved to Manchester."

"I didn't mean I was suprised at that… only that the story was published long before you were born."

"It was my grandfather who kept the old books. He taught himself to read using the penny weeklies. He said that was easier than the Bible because it was how people spoke. When I was younger, he would read the stories to me. I loved to hear him, all dramatic and frightening. So that's what the count was—a vampire?"

"Yes. Do you believe me?"

Essie hesitated, then answered diplomatically, "You don't seem like the sort to make things up."

"I'm not. And I wouldn't have ever told you any of this, but my husband is dreaming about the one creature who is still alive. I don't know if that means that she is coming here, but I need you alert and prepared. And I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted to leave my employ, given the circumstances. You've been a treasure to have with me, and I'll certainly help you get another position."

Essie frowned, considered, then shook her head. "I may someday think myself a fool for this, but I'll stay. Now what do I need to know?"

Mina described Joanna as best she could, then added, "Since she may have means of disguising herself, you should never give a strange woman permission to enter the house, especially after dark. Don't even open the door. If I am not here, be sure to tell anyone you don't know to wait outside for me or to return later."

"Can they wait in the garden?" Essie asked.

Mina smiled. "I think the garden would be fine."

They finished their tea in silence. Then Mina poured more and asked, "Your family farmed. Where?"

"In Surrey. They'd worked land there for as long as any-one could remember. I was small when the first drought hit. We had three more in five years. No one can survive that. We left there in '81 and moved to Manchester. A horrible place. When my father died, my mother thought we should try London."

"Did you find it better?"

"Even dirtier than Manchester. But my mother had steady work in a bakery, so we always ate. Not like some. We shared what we had, though. My mother said charity would bring us luck, if only in the hereafter. It did, at least for as long as she was alive."

"Are you also religious?" Mina asked.

"I am. But I haven't been able to go to church recently. After her last attack, I always had to stay with Mrs. Proctor."

"Well, you have Sundays to yourself to go or not as you please."

"Good. And I think a few prayers might be in order… and perhaps a bit of holy water?"

Mina nodded. A little extra protection might prove to be best. She watched thoughtfully as Essie gathered the glasses and went inside. When the woman returned some minutes later, a small metal cross dangled from a chain around her neck.

"Should I get back to the kitchen?" she asked.

"I'll come and help you. While we work, I want you to tell me everything you can about the poorer parts of Exeter." By the time the kitchen had been set up for daily use, Mina had learned a great deal about sections of Exeter she'd rarely visited. There were at least a dozen women Essie knew who had fallen on bad times due to the deaths of their husbands, or being let go from some position. She learned that the Beasons were held up to near sainthood by the poor who sent their children to the charity hospital, and that Dr. Rhys was someone the older folks could rely on.

Essie explained about the charity clinic Dr. Rhys had opened a year earlier. Though he had a thriving practice among the gentry, he opened a free office two days a week to tend to the needs of adults and children alike, usually without cost. "I stored my things in his office. If I hadn't, I would have owned only the clothes on my back the first time I fell asleep."

"Terrible people."

"Not terrible, Madame Mina. Poor. The luckiest work. The rest beg, and when they can't, they do what they must. I don't judge them. I can't anymore."

"Are there many like you… that is, fallen from better circumstances."

"Too many. These are hard times. I'd always hoped for a husband and children someday. Now I am glad I never had that responsibility when I see how the poorest ones live."

Mina considered her words through the morning. Later she asked Essie to go into town with her the next time the clinic was open and introduce her to Dr. Rhys. She had no certain plan in mind, not yet, but she was beginning to see what she wanted to do with some part of her sudden and awkward fortune.

Dr. Rhys was just seeing the last of his morning patients when Essie arrived with her mistress. He noted that Essie seemed excited and her mistress quietly anxious. Though he was curious, he asked them to sit in the outer office while he gave some final advice to a patient.

As he turned his attention back to the young woman who had consulted him, he frowned. In truth, he had nothing he wished to tell her. She was in the final stages of syphilis. Had she showed some sign of honor, he might have given her some funds to keep her from plying the trade that had infected her in the first place. But he knew she would only spend the money on drink and be on the street the next night, willing to infect some other unsuspecting John.

Not unsuspecting now, he thought. The exact nature of her disease might not be clear to a casual observer, but the fact that she was ill certainly would be.

Let the bastards draw their own conclusions.

At times like this, it was best not to think of his mother, but he could not keep the thought at bay. When he told the woman she had at most a few weeks to live and all but ordered her out of his office, his voice had a hard edge—deserved, but not in keeping with the oath of his profession.

Better to save his judgment for the nights when he was not Dr. Rhys, but just a man, and a good glass of rye or bourbon would make the anger dull.

As he went out to meet his guests, he recalled what little gossip he had heard about Mina Harker. Though he found it intriguing, he thought her actions less than honorable. He was even prepared to dislike her until he mentioned her name to Winnie Beason and learned that Mrs. Harker, though new to Exeter, had become one of the most reliable volunteers for the Children's Hospital. It had been his experience that libertines did not engage in direct charity work, but if she was a virtuous woman, why had she taken off to the Continent with the likes of Lord Gance?

A mystery he hoped would not intrigue him overly much. As always, he had more important things to think of.

Essie stayed only long enough to make an introduction, then declined the cup of tea he offered and went off to visit a friend in the neighborhood while the two talked. As he expected, Mina Harker asked about his work.

He explained that he had left London a year earlier following a lengthy illness brought on by his charity practice there. He had come to Exeter because in a city far smaller than London his charity work might make a difference and not prove too taxing to his health. He was a physician to the wealthy and poor alike, letting one set of fees cover the expenses for those he treated for nothing.

"I still go to London occasionally to consult with colleagues and see some of my patients. When I visit the worst of that town, I try not to look too closely at its misery or I would be drawn back into a battle for its innocents that I think not even an army of saints could win."

"Essie tells me that you have been a godsend to her. I wanted to thank you, and volunteer to provide some support for your work. However, I would like to ask a favor in exchange."

"A favor?" He looked at her with open curiosity as he added, "Ask, and I'll do my best to grant it."

"Essie said that there are many women like herself—good women who have fallen on hard times. I should like to help them if I can, the way you helped Essie."

"And why would you do this?"

"Why?" she looked at him, confused. "What an odd thing for you to say."

"Not so odd, to inquire about motive."

"I came into an inheritance, and I wish to share it."

She said this without the slightest trace of self-satisfaction. The tone convinced him that whatever gossip there might be about her, it could hardly be true. "All our lives are uncertain," he said. "We brush against one another's souls and alter both—in this life, in the past ones and in the ones to come."

"Reincarnation, you mean?"

"Exactly. I believe in it because there is a justice at the core of it that all other religions lack." He explained the philosophy, pleased to see that her interest in it had not the slightest hint of condescension. Yes, Essie was right about her. She had a remarkably open mind.

"Then if we are all to be reborn, why do anything for anyone that will extend a miserable life? Why this clinic and the work you do?" Mina asked when he'd finished.

"We do acts of charity because it makes us feel more human. And the gods do notice. They reward us for them in the next life."

"An odd way to put it," she said thoughtfully.

"Not so odd, especially since charity suits some of us so well."

She smiled then, beautifully. On impulse, he took her hand and impetuously raised the back of it to his lips, a courtly gesture.

"And your favor?" he asked.

"I am looking for assistance in finding a small building that could be converted into a home for widowed and abandoned women, one that will allow space for their children as well. Then, if I haven't taxed your patience too much, I would like referrals of women you think would benefit from such an arrangement."

He smiled. "You mean women who would not bring scandal on the house or the other tenants in it, don't you?"

As he expected, his directness caught her off guard. She hesitated, then answered. "I suppose that is what I mean. Though I care not a bit about scandal and am hardly prudish, I would not want those I mean to help subjected to abuse or drunkeness from others in the house—not the women, and especially not their children."

Her aims were higher than he'd expected, but hardly unreasonable. A practical woman, he decided. "I'd be pleased to help," he replied. "I have no patients to see tomorrow. Shall we start searching for your house then?"

"Please! The sooner we begin, the better." She glanced into the outer office and saw it was empty. "When Essie arrives, tell her I've gone over to the hospital to see Mrs. Beason. Tell her that I'll meet her there at three."

Mina had been gone nearly an hour when Essie returned. "Sarah's husband's had a bit of luck," she said happily. "Steady work on the docks, at least for the summer. The boys look better. She sends her thanks."

Rhys shrugged. "Mrs. Harker asks you to meet her at the children's hospital at three."

"Then I suppose I should be starting."