Memorandum
left by Lucy Westenra17 September, Night I write this and leave
it to be seen, so that no one may by any chance get into trouble through me. This
is an exact record of what took place tonight. I feel I am dying of weakness,
and have barely strength to write, but it must be done if I die in the doing. I
went to bed as usual, taking care that the flowers were placed as Dr. Van Helsing
directed, and soon fell asleep. I was waked by the flapping at the window,
which had begun after that sleep-walking on the cliff at Whitby when Mina saved
me, and which now I know so well. I was not afraid, but I did wish that Dr. Seward
was in the next room, as Dr. Van Helsing said he would be, so that I might have
called him. I tried to sleep, but I could not. Then there came to me the old fear
of sleep, and I determined to keep awake. Perversely sleep would try to come then
when I did not want it. So, as I feared to be alone, I opened my door and called
out, "Is there anybody there?" There was no answer. I was afraid to
wake mother, and so closed my door again. Then outside in the shrubbery I heard
a sort of howl like a dog's, but more fierce and deeper. I went to the window
and looked out, but could see nothing, except a big bat, which had evidently been
buffeting its wings against the window. So I went back to bed again, but determined
not to go to sleep. Presently the door opened, and mother looked in. Seeing by
my moving that I was not asleep, she came in and sat by me. She said to me even
more sweetly and softly than her wont, "I was uneasy about you, darling,
and came in to see that you were all right." I feared she might catch
cold sitting there, and asked her to come in and sleep with me, so she came into
bed, and lay down beside me. She did not take off her dressing gown, for she said
she would only stay a while and then go back to her own bed. As she lay there
in my arms, and I in hers the flapping and buffeting came to the window again.
She was startled and a little frightened, and cried out, "What is that?" I
tried to pacify her, and at last succeeded, and she lay quiet. But I could hear
her poor dear heart still beating terribly. After a while there was the howl again
out in the shrubbery, and shortly after there was a crash at the window, and a
lot of broken glass was hurled on the floor. The window blind blew back with the
wind that rushed in, and in the aperture of the broken panes there was the head
of a great, gaunt gray wolf. Mother cried out in a fright, and struggled
up into a sitting posture, and clutched wildly at anything that would help her.
Amongst other things, she clutched the wreath of flowers that Dr. Van Helsing
insisted on my wearing round my neck, and tore it away from me. For a second or
two she sat up, pointing at the wolf, and there was a strange and horrible gurgling
in her throat. Then she fell over, as if struck with lightning, and her head hit
my forehead and made me dizzy for a moment or two. The room and all round
seemed to spin round. I kept my eyes fixed on the window, but the wolf drew his
head back, and a whole myriad of little specks seems to come blowing in through
the broken window, and wheeling and circling round like the pillar of dust that
travellers describe when there is a simoon in the desert. I tried to stir, but
there was some spell upon me, and dear Mother's poor body, which seemed to grow
cold already, for her dear heart had ceased to beat, weighed me down, and I remembered
no more for a while. The time did not seem long, but very, very awful, till
I recovered consciousness again. Somewhere near, a passing bell was tolling. The
dogs all round the neighbourhood were howling, and in our shrubbery, seemingly
just outside, a nightingale was singing. I was dazed and stupid with pain and
terror and weakness, but the sound of the nightingale seemed like the voice of
my dead mother come back to comfort me. The sounds seemed to have awakened the
maids, too, for I could hear their bare feet pattering outside my door. I called
to them, and they came in, and when they saw what had happened, and what it was
that lay over me on the bed, they screamed out. The wind rushed in through the
broken window, and the door slammed to. They lifted off the body of my dear mother,
and laid her, covered up with a sheet, on the bed after I had got up. They were
all so frightened and nervous that I directed them to go to the dining room and
each have a glass of wine. The door flew open for an instant and closed again.
The maids shrieked, and then went in a body to the dining room, and I laid what
flowers I had on my dear mother's breast. When they were there I remembered what
Dr. Van Helsing had told me, but I didn't like to remove them, and besides, I
would have some of the servants to sit up with me now. I was surprised that the
maids did not come back. I called them, but got no answer, so I went to the dining
room to look for them. My heart sank when I saw what had happened. They
all four lay helpless on the floor, breathing heavily. The decanter of sherry
was on the table half full, but there was a queer, acrid smell about. I was suspicious,
and examined the decanter. It smelt of laudanum, and looking on the sideboard,
I found that the bottle which Mother's doctor uses for her--oh! did use--was empty.
What am I to do? What am I to do? I am back in the room with Mother. I cannot
leave her, and I am alone, save for the sleeping servants, whom some one has drugged.
Alone with the dead! I dare not go out, for I can hear the low howl of the wolf
through the broken window. The air seems full of specks, floating and circling
in the draught from the window, and the lights burn blue and dim. What am I to
do? God shield me from harm this night! I shall hide this paper in my breast,
where they shall find it when they come to lay me out. My dear mother gone! It
is time that I go too. Goodbye, dear Arthur, if I should not survive this night.
God keep you, dear, and God help me! |
