Dr.
Seward's Diary26 September - continued For a while sheer anger mastered
me. It was as if he had during her life struck Lucy on the face. I smote the table
hard and rose up as I said to him, "Dr. Van Helsing, are you mad?" He
raised his head and looked at me, and somehow the tenderness of his face calmed
me at once. "Would I were!" he said. "Madness were easy to bear
compared with truth like this. Oh, my friend, why, think you, did I go so far
round, why take so long to tell so simple a thing? Was it because I hate you and
have hated you all my life? Was it because I wished to give you pain? Was it that
I wanted, now so late, revenge for that time when you saved my life, and from
a fearful death? Ah no!" "Forgive me," said I. He went
on, "My friend, it was because I wished to be gentle in the breaking to you,
for I know you have loved that so sweet lady. But even yet I do not expect you
to believe. It is so hard to accept at once any abstract truth, that we may doubt
such to be possible when we have always believed the 'no' of it. It is more hard
still to accept so sad a concrete truth, and of such a one as Miss Lucy. Tonight
I go to prove it. Dare you come with me?" This staggered me. A man
does not like to prove such a truth, Byron excepted from the category, jealousy.
"And prove the very truth he most abhorred." He saw my hesitation,
and spoke, "The logic is simple, no madman's logic this time, jumping from
tussock to tussock in a misty bog. If it not be true, then proof will be relief.
At worst it will not harm. If it be true! Ah, there is the dread. Yet every dread
should help my cause, for in it is some need of belief. Come, I tell you what
I propose. First, that we go off now and see that child in the hospital. Dr. Vincent,
of the North Hospital, where the papers say the child is, is a friend of mine,
and I think of yours since you were in class at Amsterdam. He will let two scientists
see his case, if he will not let two friends. We shall tell him nothing, but only
that we wish to learn. And then . . ." "And then?" He
took a key from his pocket and held it up. "And then we spend the night,
you and I, in the churchyard where Lucy lies. This is the key that lock the tomb.
I had it from the coffin man to give to Arthur." My heart sank within
me, for I felt that there was some fearful ordeal before us. I could do nothing,
however, so I plucked up what heart I could and said that we had better hasten,
as the afternoon was passing. We found the child awake. It had had a sleep
and taken some food, and altogether was going on well. Dr. Vincent took the bandage
from its throat, and showed us the punctures. There was no mistaking the similarity
to those which had been on Lucy's throat. They were smaller, and the edges looked
fresher, that was all. We asked Vincent to what he attributed them, and he replied
that it must have been a bite of some animal, perhaps a rat, but for his own part,
he was inclined to think it was one of the bats which are so numerous on the northern
heights of London. "Out of so many harmless ones," he said, "there
may be some wild specimen from the South of a more malignant species. Some sailor
may have brought one home, and it managed to escape, or even from the Zoological
Gardens a young one may have got loose, or one be bred there from a vampire. These
things do occur, you, know. Only ten days ago a wolf got out, and was, I believe,
traced up in this direction. For a week after, the children were playing nothing
but Red Riding Hood on the Heath and in every alley in the place until this 'bloofer
lady' scare came along, since then it has been quite a gala time with them. Even
this poor little mite, when he woke up today, asked the nurse if he might go away.
When she asked him why he wanted to go, he said he wanted to play with the 'bloofer
lady'." "I hope," said Van Helsing, "that when you are
sending the child home you will caution its parents to keep strict watch over
it. These fancies to stray are most dangerous, and if the child were to remain
out another night, it would probably be fatal. But in any case I suppose you will
not let it away for some days?" "Certainly not, not for a week
at least, longer if the wound is not healed." Our visit to the hospital
took more time than we had reckoned on, and the sun had dipped before we came
out. When Van Helsing saw how dark it was, he said, "There is not hurry.
It is more late than I thought. Come, let us seek somewhere that we may eat, and
then we shall go on our way." We dined at 'Jack Straw's Castle' along
with a little crowd of bicyclists and others who were genially noisy. About ten
o'clock we started from the inn. It was then very dark, and the scattered lamps
made the darkness greater when we were once outside their individual radius. The
Professor had evidently noted the road we were to go, for he went on unhesitatingly,
but, as for me, I was in quite a mixup as to locality. As we went further, we
met fewer and fewer people, till at last we were somewhat surprised when we met
even the patrol of horse police going their usual suburban round. At last we reached
the wall of the churchyard, which we climbed over. With some little difficulty,
for it was very dark, and the whole place seemed so strange to us, we found the
Westenra tomb. The Professor took the key, opened the creaky door, and standing
back, politely, but quite unconsciously, motioned me to precede him. There was
a delicious irony in the offer, in the courtliness of giving preference on such
a ghastly occasion. My companion followed me quickly, and cautiously drew the
door to, after carefully ascertaining that the lock was a falling, and not a spring
one. In the latter case we should have been in a bad plight. Then he fumbled in
his bag, and taking out a matchbox and a piece of candle, proceeded to make a
light. The tomb in the daytime, and when wreathed with fresh flowers, had looked
grim and gruesome enough, but now, some days afterwards, when the flowers hung
lank and dead, their whites turning to rust and their greens to browns, when the
spider and the beetle had resumed their accustomed dominance, when the time-discoloured
stone, and dust-encrusted mortar, and rusty, dank iron, and tarnished brass, and
clouded silver-plating gave back the feeble glimmer of a candle, the effect was
more miserable and sordid than could have been imagined. It conveyed irresistibly
the idea that life, animal life, was not the only thing which could pass away. Van
Helsing went about his work systematically. Holding his candle so that he could
read the coffin plates, and so holding it that the sperm dropped in white patches
which congealed as they touched the metal, he made assurance of Lucy's coffin.
Another search in his bag, and he took out a turnscrew. "What are you
going to do?" I asked. "To open the coffin. You shall yet be convinced." Straightway
he began taking out the screws, and finally lifted off the lid, showing the casing
of lead beneath. The sight was almost too much for me. It seemed to be as much
an affront to the dead as it would have been to have stripped off her clothing
in her sleep whilst living. I actually took hold of his hand to stop him. He
only said, "You shall see," and again fumbling in his bag took out a
tiny fret saw. Striking the turnscrew through the lead with a swift downward stab,
which made me wince, he made a small hole, which was, however, big enough to admit
the point of the saw. I had expected a rush of gas from the week-old corpse. We
doctors, who have had to study our dangers, have to become accustomed to such
things, and I drew back towards the door. But the Professor never stopped for
a moment. He sawed down a couple of feet along one side of the lead coffin, and
then across, and down the other side. Taking the edge of the loose flange, he
bent it back towards the foot of the coffin, and holding up the candle into the
aperture, motioned to me to look. I drew near and looked. The coffin was
empty. It was certainly a surprise to me, and gave me a considerable shock, but
Van Helsing was unmoved. He was now more sure than ever of his ground, and so
emboldened to proceed in his task. "Are you satisfied now, friend John?"
he asked. I felt all the dogged argumentativeness of my nature awake within
me as I answered him, "I am satisfied that Lucy's body is not in that coffin,
but that only proves one thing." "And what is that, friend John?" "That
it is not there." "That is good logic," he said, "so
far as it goes. But how do you, how can you, account for it not being there?" "Perhaps
a body-snatcher," I suggested. "Some of the undertaker's people may
have stolen it." I felt that I was speaking folly, and yet it was the only
real cause which I could suggest. The Professor sighed. "Ah well!"
he said, "we must have more proof. Come with me." He put on the
coffin lid again, gathered up all his things and placed them in the bag, blew
out the light, and placed the candle also in the bag. We opened the door, and
went out. Behind us he closed the door and locked it. He handed me the key, saying,
"Will you keep it? You had better be assured." I laughed, it was
not a very cheerful laugh, I am bound to say, as I motioned him to keep it. "A
key is nothing," I said, "there are many duplicates, and anyhow it is
not difficult to pick a lock of this kind." He said nothing, but put
the key in his pocket. Then he told me to watch at one side of the churchyard
whilst he would watch at the other. I took up my place behind a yew tree,
and I saw his dark figure move until the intervening headstones and trees hid
it from my sight. It was a lonely vigil. Just after I had taken my place
I heard a distant clock strike twelve, and in time came one and two. I was chilled
and unnerved, and angry with the Professor for taking me on such an errand and
with myself for coming. I was too cold and too sleepy to be keenly observant,
and not sleepy enough to betray my trust, so altogether I had a dreary, miserable
time. Suddenly, as I turned round, I thought I saw something like a white
streak, moving between two dark yew trees at the side of the churchyard farthest
from the tomb. At the same time a dark mass moved from the Professor's side of
the ground, and hurriedly went towards it. Then I too moved, but I had to go round
headstones and railed-off tombs, and I stumbled over graves. The sky was overcast,
and somewhere far off an early cock crew. A little ways off, beyond a line of
scattered juniper trees, which marked the pathway to the church, a white dim figure
flitted in the direction of the tomb. The tomb itself was hidden by trees, and
I could not see where the figure had disappeared. I heard the rustle of actual
movement where I had first seen the white figure, and coming over, found the Professor
holding in his arms a tiny child. When he saw me he held it out to me, and said,
"Are you satisfied now?" "No," I said, in a way that
I felt was aggressive. "Do you not see the child?" "Yes,
it is a child, but who brought it here? And is it wounded?" "We
shall see," said the Professor, and with one impulse we took our way out
of the churchyard, he carrying the sleeping child. When we had got some
little distance away, we went into a clump of trees, and struck a match, and looked
at the child's throat. It was without a scratch or scar of any kind. "Was
I right?" I asked triumphantly. "We were just in time," said
the Professor thankfully. We had now to decide what we were to do with the
child, and so consulted about it. If we were to take it to a police station we
should have to give some account of our movements during the night. At least,
we should have had to make some statement as to how we had come to find the child.
So finally we decided that we would take it to the Heath, and when we heard a
policeman coming, would leave it where he could not fail to find it. We would
then seek our way home as quickly as we could. All fell out well. At the edge
of Hampstead Heath we heard a policeman's heavy tramp, and laying the child on
the pathway, we waited and watched until he saw it as he flashed his lantern to
and fro. We heard his exclamation of astonishment, and then we went away silently.
By good chance we got a cab near the 'Spainiards,' and drove to town. I
cannot sleep, so I make this entry. But I must try to get a few hours' sleep,
as Van Helsing is to call for me at noon. He insists that I go with him on another
expedition. |
