I tucked the note into my pocket and tried to regain my composure. Even in her mad state, Lucy could see that I was in shock. “What’s the matter?”
“Jonathan’s been found,” I said. I could not disclose how I had received the information, and indeed, I did not know how this all-knowing, ubiquitous creature who called himself my servant and my master had found me in Whitby or how he knew Jonathan’s location.
Two days later, in answer to a telegram that John Seward suggested I send to the hospital, a letter came back that Jonathan was indeed on the list of patients. He was recovering from a case of brain fever, and it was advisable for a relation to come to his aid. Seward translated the letter and assured me that Graz was renowned for its hospitals, owing to the excellent medical school in the city.
“My, but it is useful to have one friend from university who did not waste his tenure at drinking and sport,” said Arthur Holmwood. The two men were holding vigil every day at Henrietta Street, pestering Lucy over her condition. She spent most of her time in bed, feigning headaches just to avoid them, all the while certain that word from Morris would arrive at any moment.
Seward smiled at the compliment, but a worried look came over his face. “Brain fever is a blanket diagnosis for a variety of illnesses, Miss Mina,” he said. “When you return to England, if you do not find him fully recovered, I will have Dr. Von Helsinger examine him. He was my mentor in Germany at medical school and, I am happy to say, now my colleague at the asylum. His theories on the interaction of blood, brain, body, and spirit are considered radical, and yet I believe him to be a man decades ahead of his time.”
“Then I am certain that Mr. Harker would like to meet him, for he too is a very modern thinker,” I replied. I wanted to emphasize to Seward that I was engaged to a man of substance.
I sent a telegram to Mr. Hawkins, Jonathan’s uncle, that he was in Graz and that I would go to him immediately. He replied with apologies for the illness that prevented him from taking the trip in my stead but wired ample funds to a bank in Whitby to pay for my journey and any medical costs that Jonathan had incurred.
I had never traveled out of the country, much less traveled alone, and long dialogues were held about my safety and the best and most expedient route I should take. I allowed these matters to be decided for me, as I had no knowledge that might help form a strong opinion one way or another. I sent a note to Headmistress explaining why I would not be present at the start of classes, and allowed John Seward, who knew German and some of the Slavic languages that were also spoken in Styria, to coach me in the pronunciation of a few key words. Arthur Holmwood used his family connections to have a passport issued to me in haste.
At the Whitby station, Seward reviewed my itinerary with me once more. “I envy Mr. Harker his malady if it means that such a beautiful woman is willing to travel so many miles to see to him.” He stole a furtive glance at Lucy, and I had the firm impression that in addition to flattering me, he was trying to make her jealous.
I took Lucy aside to say good-bye. I clutched her hands in mine and kissed both her cheeks. “I beg of you to be wise, Lucy. Your future depends upon it.” I whispered these words into her ear, but when I drew back and looked at her face, I saw that she had no intention of obeying me.
With an uncomfortable feeling in my belly for the welfare of my friend, I thanked the two men for all that they had done for me and I turned my thoughts to the future. Tonight I would be in the city of Hull, where I would catch the boat to Rotterdam, and then travel by train to Vienna, and then on to Graz.
Part Three
GRAZ, IN THE DUCHY OF STYRIA
Chapter Eight
The fog that drifted from the mountains in great clusters of white glided over the city like ghostly watchmen. One such mass escaped from the crevice of a mountain and headed my way. I could not help but recall the eerie images of spirits in the Gummlers’ photographs. I had the disconcerting feeling that I was no longer alone, that perhaps the being that had informed me of Jonathan’s whereabouts had followed me here, as he had been following me everywhere else.
Sometimes, faithful reader, we are called upon to reconcile and live with mystery. Prior to the note he sent, I had been able to convince myself, albeit halfheartedly, that my savior was a figment of my imagination. But the note, with its accurate information, now made that impossible. He was real; he read my thoughts; he could find me wherever I traveled; and, apparently, he was omniscient. Moreover, though I feared him, he thrilled and fascinated me. And now, after having had his sorcerer’s hands upon me, giving me pleasure, I had to face my beloved fiance, who was lying ill in a hospital in a foreign country.
I walked quickly along the quay of the river Mur, which wound its way through the town, its waters rushing past in foamy crowns. In the middle of the city sat the Schlossburg, a hill topped by a red brick ruin of an early medieval fortress with an adjacent clock tower. Though I had no idea where I was, I had the river, the fortress, and the tall onion-domed steeples shooting up from the town’s many churches as my landmarks. I asked each passerby, reluctant to stop in the rain, for directions to the hospital, which I am sure I pronounced dreadfully despite Seward’s careful tutelage. A man pointed me one way, which led to a dead end, where a lady pointed me back in the direction from which I had just come. I went through this exercise twice more with mounting frustration until a kindly gentleman walked me to the entrance of the hospital, which was tucked away (like many things in Graz, I later found out) off an Italian-style courtyard hidden from the street.
An attending sister wearing the white sail-like headdress of her order and a starched apron over her heavy black habit greeted me in the hospital lobby. Every word that Seward had taught me went flying out of my head in the face of her stern demeanor. Stammering, I took the telegram out of my pocket and thrust it at her. She read it with her lips moving slowly over the words. Then she nodded and led me through a hallway where stately sisters in the same habit glided silently like ships on a calm sea, their hands tucked in pockets beneath their aprons. We came to a small ward with beds separated by heavy unbleached muslin curtains for privacy. I attempted to ask her about Jonathan’s condition, but she answered me in her language, which I did not understand.
She pulled back a curtain revealing a thin man with a white streak like a lightning bolt through his brown hair and a lost, hollow look in his eyes. Only when the sister addressed him did I recognize my fiance.
“Mina! Can it be?” He leaned forward, but as soon as I approached the bed, he withdrew. “Or are you some apparition come to toy with me?”
I was afraid to startle this haunted-looking person by coming too near, so I sat on the bed by his feet, which he quickly pulled toward his chest. He mumbled something in German. His eyes, always changeable, were now almost
