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  Thus far, Jonathan and I had made only vague plans for our wedding, and we only recently set a date for next spring. Mary was consistently suspicious of my lack of interest in the wedding, especially considering that I was twenty-five and creeping towards spinsterhood in her opinion. It is a woman’s only day, she would often chide, studying me with narrowed eyes.

  For Mary’s sake, I tried to appear enthusiastic about my upcoming wedding, not wanting to reveal that I found the pomp of society weddings silly and quite unnecessary. As a girl, I never dreamed of getting married—my only desire then was to become an adventurer and a scientist. But I pushed those dreams aside after Father’s death. Now, I just wanted to teach and have a quiet life with Jonathan, and an elaborate wedding simply did not matter to me.

  “Wonderful,” Mary said, her eyes still trained on me. “We have not discussed what you plan to do about your teaching position after you are wed. When do you plan to leave your post?”

  I tensed, and her words seemed to pull Jonathan from his distracted thoughts. He looked at his mother with a frown.

  “What do you mean, Mother?” he asked.

  “Our Mina can hardly work at that . . . school, once she is married,” Mary sniffed, her nose crinkling in disgust at the very thought of the school where I taught. “If she insists on teaching, we can have her placed at a private one in a better neighborhood. Perhaps one here in Kensington—or Mayfair. I worry about my future daughter-in-law traveling to the East End every day,” she added, her hand straying to her heart in an exaggerated gesture of concern. But Mary was a terrible liar; her words were blatantly insincere.

  “Mother . . .” Jonathan began, his voice tight with warning.

  “I’m sorry, darling,” Mary said, not sounding at all apologetic. “I just hear the most terrible rumors about those—what are they called? Ragged schools? For poor children? I think it is rather noble that she chose to teach there, but once Mina is officially a Harker—”

  “The school is quite understaffed,” I said, trying to hide my irritation behind a smile. “And I enjoy teaching the children there. It’s hardly their fault they were born poor.”

  “Oh, I agree. But as Jonathan’s wife, you can hardly be expected to—”

  “Mina is happy teaching where she is. If she is happy, then so am I,” Jonathan interjected.

  A rush of love and gratitude towards Jonathan swirled within me, and I gave him a small smile, which he returned. Jonathan shared none of the snobbery that his mother and others of his class wore with pride. Mary bristled, irritated by our solidarity.

  “Very well,” she said, though I knew the matter was hardly settled as far as she was concerned. “Will you be able to join me for tea this Sunday afternoon, Mina? I want to discuss more wedding details.”

  I involuntarily stiffened. My Sunday afternoons were either spent with Jonathan taking walks around a different part of the city, or reading at home with a cup of tea. I enjoyed my Sunday afternoons. The thought of spending it with Mary and the haughty society women she often invited filled me with dread. With all of the turbulent emotions that had swirled through me since Abe’s reappearance, I needed an afternoon of relaxation.

  My reluctance didn’t escape Mary’s notice. Nothing did, unfortunately. She raised an eyebrow.

  “Is there a problem, my dear? You have been engaged to my son for six months, and you have only just set a date. People are beginning to talk.”

  “Well, then we should wed right away. We certainly would not want people to talk,” I coolly returned.

  Though it was somewhat satisfying to see Mary’s angry flush at my retort, I felt a twinge of regret. I didn’t need to deepen Mary’s disapproval of me. Mary scowled, and even Jonathan gave me a slightly disapproving frown.

  “I’m sorry, Mary,” I said hastily, giving her as warm of a smile as I could muster. “I’ve had a bit of a stressful day. Tea on Sunday would be lovely.”

  Mary nodded, but she still looked greatly offended. I turned to give Jonathan an apologetic look, but his focus had returned to the tablecloth, and he again seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.

  The remainder of the meal was brief. I tried to engage Mary in conversation, inquiring about the many social functions she was to attend over the course of the next month. I even made suggestions for wedding decorations, but Mary offered only stilted replies.

  I was relieved when the meal came to an end. Jonathan embraced and kissed his mother farewell; she stiffly offered me her cheek to kiss.

  The air outside was damp with the promise of rain, but we still decided to take a brief walk before Jonathan escorted me back to Highgate. A light fog had descended over the Kensington streets, battling with the numerous gas lamps to cloak the neighborhood with its own form of hazy luminescence. In spite of the threat of rain and the increasing lateness of the hour, the streets still bustled with activity, and we had to navigate our way past other couples and passersby.

  As we began our walk, I took Jonathan’s offered arm, glancing up to take in his profile. I met Jonathan at a charity ball over a year ago, where he had quietly mocked the exaggerated accents of the aristocratic guests, eliciting a genuine laugh from me for the first time in months. Our courtship had begun tentatively, with long talks in Mary’s drawing room. Mary had insisted on serving as our chaperone since both of my parents were deceased and I had very little contact with my father’s extended family. Our talks soon transitioned into lengthy walks all around London, and I found myself looking forward to our time together.

  I had told him about Father, our travels, and my love of the sciences; careful to leave out details of exactly what we’d encountered in Transylvania, merely telling him that Father’s death was a tragic accident. To my relief, he had not pressed for more details, innately seeming to understand how painful Father’s death was for me—he’d lost his own father not long before our courtship began.

  Jonathan told me of his work as a solicitor, and how his mother wanted him to become a barrister like his late father, but he took greater joy in helping the less privileged. His firm specialized in handling estate transactions for wealthy clients to purchase housing all throughout London for the poor.

  I fell in love with Jonathan quite against my will. My grief over Father’s death and my long time love for Abe still hovered in the back of my heart, never letting me forget that they were there. Jonathan was not dismayed by my unconventional past, nor by my outsider status in society because of it. You are unlike anyone I have ever met, he’d said earnestly, before kissing me for the first time. When he proposed to me during a rainy carriage ride down Piccadilly, there was only one response I could possibly give him. I knew that with Jonathan, I would finally be able to move forward with my life and leave the tragedy in my past behind. Yes, I had tremulously whispered to him. With all my heart, yes.

  “I’m sorry I was cross with your mother,” I said to him now. “I don’t think she accepted my apology. I’ll call on her tomorrow, if that would—”

  “We both know my mother. There is no need to offer any additional apologies, my darling.”

  He gave me a gentle smile, but he still looked vaguely troubled.

  “Is something wrong, Jonathan? You’ve been distracted all evening.” Had someone spotted me and Abe earlier today? Was that what was troubling him? Jonathan stopped mid-stride and turned to face me, his eyes shadowed with anxiety. I stood stiffly, bracing myself for his response.

  “Someone broke into our offices last night,” he said. “It was completely destroyed when I arrived this morning, yet nothing was taken.”

  “No,” I breathed, frowning with concern.

  “Last week I discovered a few files missing,” Jonathan continued, his brow furrowing. “After what happened today, I’m wondering if the two incidents are related. Peter told me that if there are any further incidents, we might have to move offices. He’s starting to think London’s become too dangerous.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said sympathe
tically. Peter Hawkins was Jonathan’s partner at their two-man firm, a kind man in his fifties who shared Jonathan’s charitable nature, and whom I liked very much. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “You can walk with me along the river,” he said with a smile, reaching out to pull me in close to his side. “Your presence is all that I require.”

  I returned his smile, and we made our way south through Kensington towards the Thames. Once we reached the walking path that ran along the river, Jonathan pulled me in even closer, and I rested my head on his shoulder.

  “I have been so distracted that I’ve neglected you, darling. How are you? Is Horace giving you any trouble?” Jonathan asked, raising my hand to his lips to give it a loving kiss.

  I hesitated. Now would be the ideal time to tell him about Abe’s visit. Jonathan knew that Abe traveled with me and Father, but he had never inquired about the exact nature of our relationship. I suspected that he didn’t want to know.

  “Mina?” Jonathan persisted.

  As with Clara, I decided that I didn’t want to cause Jonathan undue concern. He had enough on his mind with the incidents at his office. Abe’s visit was inconsequential, I told myself. I will not be seeing him again.

  “Horace scolded me today for telling adventure stories to the children,” I said, forcing a wry but annoyed smile, ignoring my guilt at the purposeful evasion. “He can be truly insufferable. But I love those students. I endure him for their sake.”

  “Your students are lucky to have you. I meant what I said to Mother about your teaching. But I do confess . . .” he began, his words trailing off into silence as he looked away.

  “What?”

  “With all the traveling you’ve done; the life you led before . . . I fear you would be terribly bored as a solicitor’s wife,” he confessed.

  Jonathan had expressed such concerns before, though I had repeatedly assured him otherwise. I wanted nothing of the life I had lived before I met him. I set aside my annoyance at this repeated concern; in light of the day’s events, I didn’t want to quarrel with him.

  I stopped walking, turning him to face me as I gave him a look of mock offense.

  “You are hardly just a solicitor, Jonathan. You perform the best impressions of anyone in London, and I get to be your solo audience.”

  My words had their intended effect, and Jonathan laughed. I smiled, reaching up to gently touch his face.

  “I love you, Jonathan Harker. My place is here with you.”

  I cast a hasty look around to ensure we were alone before boldly reaching up to kiss him. Jonathan responded, and we only pulled away when we heard the footfalls of another approaching couple.

  We continued along the path in companionable silence, periodically stopping to exchange kisses whenever we were alone. During one particularly passionate kiss, it began to rain. Jonathan pulled away from me with great reluctance, looking up at the dark and cloudy sky.

  “We can find a cab,” he suggested.

  “No. . . I rather enjoy walking in the rain. And some of our best memories are from walking in the rain,” I added, with a nostalgic smile. “Remember our walk home from the museum?”

  “Of course,” he said, feigning a grimace as he wound his fingers through mine. “The best and the worst day.”

  Jonathan had not only proposed to me in the rain, he’d also told me he loved me for the first time during a downpour. We had decided to make the long walk back to my home after taking in an exhibition of drawings at the British Museum, when there was a sudden torrential downpour of rain halfway through our walk. Unable to find a cab, we had hurried to the nearest Underground station, our clothing soaked straight through. Ignoring the disapproving gazes of other passengers as we dripped all over the floors of the train, we took in our mutually drenched states and began to laugh.

  “I–I love you, Mina,” Jonathan had said suddenly, as our laughter subsided. An embarrassed flush spread over his cheeks at both my look of astonishment and the other passengers’ stares.

  “I love you too,” I had replied, and he looked greatly relieved as his flush faded. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw many of the other passengers smile at our exchange. As soon as we emerged from the station, we found an isolated side street, where Jonathan passionately kissed me.

  “Clara was quite cross with you when I returned home,” I said now, smiling at the memory as we left the walking path to head back towards Kensington. I cleared my throat and did my best impression of Clara’s Yorkshire accent. “‘I thought he was from a gran’ family. Takin’ a lady out int’ pourin’ rain.’”

  “Ah, but we both know that you are not a typical lady. The walk home was your idea,” Jonathan protested, with playful defensiveness.

  “Perhaps,” I returned, with a sly grin.

  When we arrived in Highgate, the light rain had tapered off. We walked hand in hand up the stairs to my front door, and Jonathan turned to look at the dark windows of my home, frowning.

  “I worry about you here all alone.”

  “I’m hardly alone. Clara is often here,” I said. “We could elope, and I could move into your home sooner . . .” I added, with a mischievous smile.

  “Mother would have a heart attack.” Jonathan laughed, looking both horrified and amused at the same time. “Darling, I want to show you off as my bride. The wait will be worth it.”

  My anxiety over Abe’s reappearance did not dissipate the next day, and I had to force myself to concentrate on my students as they took turns reading aloud from their grammar books.

  I had gently informed them that we would stick to Horace’s curriculum going forward, and I would not be telling any more adventure stories. My anger towards Horace reawakened when I saw the disappointment on their young faces. My tales of the world outside London was likely the only chance they’d ever have of experiencing it. My own pleasure aside, I loved seeing the light in their eyes as I described seeing the canals of Amsterdam, the multitude of evergreens in the Black Forest of Germany, and the vast Carpathian Mountain range.

  By the end of the school day, the students were more muted than usual, and I noticed a few struggling to keep their eyes open as I had them recite their vocabulary tables. When I dismissed them for the day, they filed out without their usual cheery goodbyes, and I watched them leave with a concerned frown. I would have to find another way to make the lessons enjoyable.

  As I took the Underground back to Highgate, my thoughts drifted to Abe rather than lesson plans. He was persistent, and I sincerely doubted that he had left London. He had once convinced the stubborn leader of a biology conference in Paris to allow me entrance by convincing him I was a distant relative of the queen. I couldn’t help but smile at the memory.

  Tonight I was to attend a London Law Society ball with Jonathan. I knew that I needed to clear my mind, hurry home and get dressed, but when I reached Highgate, I found myself walking into the lush green grounds of Waterlow Park, heading towards a place I had not visited in months.

  4

  The Ball

  The park was quiet, with only a few men and women strolling by or lounging on the various benches that dotted the grounds. By the time I reached the far edge of the park, the only sounds of humanity were the distant clopping of horse hooves and grind of carriage wheels, along with the faint voices of vendors selling their wares at the markets on High Street.

  I soon reached my destination at the far end of the park, Highgate Cemetery. Ignoring the tendrils of dread that coiled around my chest, I made my way past the front gates, heading down a long dusty path that snaked through the cemetery grounds. The silence of the cemetery was as deafening as any noise, and as I walked past the multitude of gothic tombstones, it seemed as if the dead watched me in silent solemnity.

  I reached the edge of the path, taking the left fork onto a narrower path until I arrived at a pair of simple granite headstones. I sank to my knees before them, a heaviness settling over me as I reached out with shaking fingers to trace the eng
raved words.

  ROBERT MURRAY, BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER

  I dropped my hand, reaching out to touch the engraved words of the adjacent headstone.

  EVA MURRAY, BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER

  I had never truly known my mother. When I was a child of five, she’d left England after a long illness to seek further treatment in Italy. Her ship sank and her body had been lost at sea. I don’t believe Father ever fully recovered from her loss.

  I had precious few memories of her. I could remember that she was beautiful, with long dark hair that I would wrap around my small hands as she laughed, and wide brown eyes that radiated both warmth and sadness. Father didn’t speak of her often, and a great shadow fell over his face whenever I inquired about her. Though I was too young when she died to feel her loss the way I felt Father’s, the ache of her missing presence had always been there. I reached up to touch the gold spinner locket around my neck. It contained a small photograph of me seated on her lap as a child, a gift she had given me shortly before she died.

  A strange sensation on the back of my neck pulled me from my thoughts, and I went still. It was the feeling of a cold gaze searing my skin; an odd bite of frost amidst the warmth of the day. But this sensation felt different than that of the day before; there was an immediate sense of ominous danger.

  I stumbled to my feet, looking around at the empty cemetery grounds, almost hoping to see Abe. There was no one else here, but my instincts told me to leave. I hurried back down the path, still feeling that persistent and haunting sensation of being watched.

  I was still on edge when I returned home, and though I knew I needed to get dressed for tonight’s ball, I spent a good hour searching through Father’s study and the cellar for any sign of his missing journal. It wasn’t until Clara entered the cellar to inform me that Jonathan would shortly arrive that I reluctantly gave up the search.

  “Why are you lookin’ for your father’s journal?” Clara asked curiously, as she helped me lace up my corset in front of my bedroom mirror moments later. “You’ve not looked through his things in years.”