Van Resen lifted the linen bandage that covered her throat.
“Appearance, yes,” the governess said, “but her condition worsens...”
“With little water or food she remains anemic—so there is no rational explanation for her improving in any way. Yet even these wounds on her neck are healing,” he said, pointing to the marks.
“Then she is healing...” Virginia observed, leaning over the girl with one hand raised to cover her own throat. “And she must improve if they have caused her condition.”
“I am uncertain now. The ‘rawness’ or blush that we originally observed around the wounds reminded me of marks left from ‘blood cupping,’ the ancient Chinese medical treatment that promotes circulation. Blood is drawn to the skin’s surface by suction created when hot cupping glasses are pressed to the epidermis.” A strained laugh came from Van Resen. “Though I think it unlikely that we could add Manchurian healers to the list of dangerous indigenous animals.”
The scientist glanced at Miss James but saw his attempt at humor had gone unnoticed, so he said, “I am no expert in tropical diseases or insect bites.”
“Might those ‘wounds’ be the result of an infection—boils, perhaps?” the governess suggested.
“An excellent theory, Miss James, but they do not resemble lesions denoting any malignancy of the blood,” he said, shaking his head. “No, we have here a pair of simple round holes directly over the jugular vein suggestive of an animal bite.”
He pulled the covers back over the girl and said huskily, “If she will not take water then the only treatment I could suggest would be a blood transfusion, but I have no instruments, and I have looked through our supplies. There is nothing with which we could attempt it.”
“But if her appearance is improving...” the governess’ eyes welled up. “Might her overall condition?”
“We can hope, but her pulse is fluctuating wildly, and she will take no fluid despite the heat. Since we cannot identify her affliction, it is impossible to gauge her actual state,” Van Resen said, grasping Miss James’ soft hands and holding them over young Lilly’s heart that lay between them. “We must make every effort to give her water, food...and all the love in our hearts. We must never underestimate the power of that emotion.”
The governess wiped at her tears with one hand.
“Come now.” He drew her away from the bed and pushed the hanging partition aside. Van Resen gave Phillip Holmes a look and the younger man sullenly vacated the large armchair in which he bade Miss James sit. “We have worked our brains to exhaustion.”
The governess smiled weakly as she took a cup of tea from Mrs. Quarrie, grasped her welcoming hand, and the women sat for a time in silent communion. The older woman was beside herself at her granddaughter’s declining health, so Miss James’ safe return had been some evidence that their prayers might find answer.
The scientist left Miss James and walked to the table where he set a palm against the journal that had belonged to the yurt’s previous owner. He had had little luck with it, other than determining that it was a record of events, and for a moment, Van Resen frowned as he considered the castaways’ situation to be like a puzzle. Despite its many mysterious elements, he knew that like all puzzles, it was only a matter of time before the proper pieces fit into place.
Though it looked like an unsolvable jumble at the moment.
“Care must be taken when formulating theories that fatigue does not weaken one’s reason, and open the door to emotional excess. While instinct is integral to the creation of a hypothesis, always it must be subordinate to science,” Dr. Van Resen said, pouring a cup of tea for himself.
He drew in a hissing breath as he continued, “That is to say, an open mind is essential to finding the truth, while sane and sober thought is required to judge it.
“A case in point is a man of letters I knew in Amsterdam. A well-regarded doctor, philosopher and metaphysian who lived by this supposition, but allowed his imagination to run wild while attempting to formulate a diagnosis for a female patient who was suffering from a low red blood cell count, or anemia—and exhibited marks similar to those we see upon Lilly’s throat.”
“Was it the same affliction?” the governess gasped, shifting forward in her chair.
“I will forgo the repetition of my earlier caution about ‘emotional excess,’ and suggest it is that very similarity that has kept me from voicing this narrative until now,” Van Resen warned. “This doctor found no other distinguishable cause for his patient’s illness, and for some reason, perhaps it was his slavish devotion to having an open mind, but among this intelligent fellow’s conjectures he irresponsibly entered nosferatu as a possible cause of the illness.
“True, there were many provocative circumstances surrounding the case, but for him to allow such a hypothesis when there are so many diseases and infections in the world that could have caused the malady...” Van Resen’s shoulders slumped. “It always puzzled me that he should take that tack.”
“What is nosferatu?” asked Mrs. Quarrie.
“You will laugh,” Van Resen said, coloring slightly. “One must remember, a mind like his was powerful, as was his imagination, and being human he was open to suggestion. I have long thought the entire incident was a case of mass hysteria—for others witnessed strange events, also.” He walked over to lean against the mantelpiece. “The betrothed of the patient’s dearest friend had just returned after time in the old country. His experiences there and the testimony of superstitious locals had convinced him of a legend.” Van Resen shrugged. “He then
