predicament.
She did not disappoint. Rather than turn red with shame, as she should have done, Lucy stood as defiant as a war goddess, her bruised neck held high. She asked her mother to sit down. “I wanted to spare you the details of the horror that befell me,” she said, putting a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “I was afraid that the shock would bring on an attack, and then, what would I do? I did not want to be responsible for causing that, Mother.”
I stepped into the shadows to hide my astonished face as Lucy unfurled an amazing story. I soon realized that she was purloining my own experience on the banks of the Thames and placing herself in the roll of victim. She illustrated in detail the madman I had described, using my own words and images. “Red eyes like a monster!” she said, explaining how she had been in the churchyard looking for me when a man jumped out of nowhere-“was he man or fiend?”-and fell upon her, biting her and sucking at her neck and throat and bosom while he held her hands and legs down with his limbs.
The watchman took a small pad from his pocket and began to scribble furiously as Lucy spoke, occasionally stopping her to clarify a detail. “And you say he smelled of drink?”
“I suppose so. Though it was so acrid and horrible that I wondered if he was a corpse escaped from the grave!” Her eyes were huge now and gleaming in the lamplight. The watchman sat on the divan next to Mrs. Westenra so that he could put his pad on the little table and write faster. I could see little prickly light-colored hairs sprouting above his pouty crimson lips, not thick enough to grow a proper mustache. His acorn-brown eyes were fixed alternately upon Lucy and his notes, his head bobbing up and down trying to keep up with her words. The deeper Lucy got into her story, the more convincing she sounded, her confidence and dramatic inflection rising parallel to the interest of the watchman.
Mrs. Westenra sat terribly calm through all this. I would have thought that any mother, let alone one with a nervous condition, would have shown more emotion listening to the details of an attack on her daughter, but Mrs. Westenra took in the story with uncharacteristic serenity. “However did you evade this monster, Lucy?” she asked.
“It was Mina who saved me,” Lucy said, gesturing to me with her arm as if I were being presented onstage like a performer.
All eyes turned upon me, leaning against the fireplace mantel, hugging the lap robe tight around my shoulders, thankful to have been forgotten until this moment. I knew that Lucy wanted me to play a part, but I was frozen.
Lucy rescued me from responding. “Before the madman could do any, well, any irrevocable harm, Mina wandered into the cemetery and saw us. Her screams frightened him, and he ran away like a coward!”
The night watchman pressed Lucy for more details, but she claimed that shock prevented her from getting a good look at the attacker. He explained that he might have to return with further questions if the chief constable was not satisfied with his report. “We will do everything possible to find this vermin and bring him to justice,” he assured us.
When he left, Mrs. Westenra ordered me to wash my face and my feet and go to bed. I was surprised at the commanding tone in her voice. “Lucy will be along shortly, Mina.”
I did as she said, pulling the curtains tight against the breaking dawn, and climbed into the bed, stretching out on the cool linens, eager for sleep, but I heard Lucy and her mother arguing.
“I have told the truth,” Lucy said, to which I heard Mrs. Westenra groan.
“I was a married woman!” she said. “Why does every generation believe it is the discoverer of pleasure? Your father was a spectacular lover.” Even through the wall, I could hear the triumph in her voice.
From Lucy’s mouth came a groan that matched her mother’s. “I am going to bed,” she said as if it were a proclamation. When I heard her footsteps approach, I turned my back toward the door so that when she entered the room, she would think I was already asleep.
Chapter Six
Lucy flashed the
The article went on to caution ladies to refrain from venturing out of doors unescorted. “‘We who wish for the continuation of the peaceful and secure atmosphere of our idyllic seaside community must remind our readers that the Whitechapel butcher who so terrified the capital city was never apprehended. If he has come to our locale, he will have found the sort of female of ill repute upon whom he preys in short supply in Whitby, and may be casting his evil intent toward genteel ladies such as Miss Westenra. We urge an attitude of vigilance and prudence from residents and visitors.’”
“Who reported this to the papers?” Lucy asked, looking at me as if I had committed the deed.
“Kate says that reporters get most of their leads from the police,” I said.
“This is sure to bring Arthur Holmwood here! I don’t want to see him!” Lucy said when her mother was out of earshot.
We passed the rest of Monday without incident, but on Tuesday morning, we heard a rap at the door. Lucy jumped out of her seat.
Hilda answered the door, and Dr. John Seward walked in with his medical bag. He tipped his hat to both of us before removing it. Mrs. Westenra rushed into the parlor.
“I came as quickly as I could,” he said to Mrs. Westenra, who greeted him extravagantly. She was not surprised to see him.
“Look at our girl, Dr. Seward,” she said to him, taking Lucy by the arm and presenting her. “Pallid and thinner than ever before! And look at these bruises. I daresay they have faded since the attack, but they are ugly reminders of her ordeal.”
Seward lifted Lucy’s chin so that he could examine her neck. “I imagine that her psyche is more bruised than her body. That is what happens in cases of violation.”
“I was not violated!” Lucy protested.
“When a lady is physically accosted, she feels mentally violated. Your sense of safety has been shattered. But do not worry; I am here to treat you. Your good mother sent a telegram to Arthur in Scarborough, and he insisted we come immediately. He is finding us rooms and will be arriving soon.” He gave her a broad smile. “See there? All shall be well. Now, if you don’t mind, would you please lie down, either on the divan or on a bed, so that I can examine you?”
Lucy looked irritated. “I am not ill. I am as well as I have ever been. John Seward, you are wasting your time. Surely there are lunatics in London who need you.”
“Lucy! The doctor has inconvenienced himself for your sake!” Mrs. Westenra was outraged. “You are insulting not only Dr. Seward but Arthur as well!”
Dr. Seward put a hand up to Mrs. Westenra, politely silencing her. He spoke patiently to Lucy. “Dear Miss Lucy, this sort of hysteria is a common response to what you have endured. The first thing we must do is to settle those nerves.”
He opened his satchel, releasing a whiff of something bitter, some chemical odor that I had to turn away from, as he sorted through bottles of medication.
“My nerves are settled!” Lucy said in a shrill voice that contradicted her words. Seward ignored her and asked Hilda to bring him a spoon and glass.
He poured two spoonfuls of liquid from a bottle into the glass and filled it with water from a pitcher, making a cloudy potion. He handed it to Lucy. “Now be a good girl and take your medicine. Then I will examine you so that I might fully assess the state of your health.”
