The Mina Murray Series Bundle, A Dracula Retelling: Books 1-3 Page 4

  “He has notes that I could use for my lessons,” I lied, avoiding Clara’s perceptive scrutiny. Once she secured my corset, I abruptly moved away from her, picking up the evening gown that I was to wear, still not looking at her. “I can finish getting dressed on my own. I don’t want you to miss your train.”

  Clara lived in Luton, in a small home that once belonged to Father’s family, which he’d gifted to her in his will. But Clara often slept here in her old room, especially in the months after Father’s death. It was only after Jonathan and I began courting that she started to spend more time in her own home.

  “I’m stayin’ overnight ta receive t’ bread delivery tomorrow. I told you earlier,” Clara said, her voice shadowed with concern.

  “Right. Of course,” I said, letting out a forced laugh as I put on my petticoat.

  “Mina,” Clara said, in an authoritative tone that I recalled from my childhood, and I instinctively looked up. She was regarding me with a worried frown. “Is everythin’ all right?”

  “You know how much I hate these society balls,” I said, giving her what I hoped was a genuine smile. “I’d much rather stay home and read.”

  Clara knew me too well, and I could tell that she didn’t believe me. But she said nothing, merely stepping forward to help me into my gown. When I was completely dressed and ready to go, she scented my skin with lavender perfume and handed me my cloak and silk gloves.

  “There,” Clara beamed, stepping aside to allow me to take in my reflection.

  The woman who stared back at me was dressed in a ball gown of fine red muslin adorned with symmetrical black lace garnitures at the sleeves and bodice. Her long dark curls were tucked back into a fashionable bun, her cheekbones and full mouth dabbed with a blood red pomade. Her eyelashes had been darkened with elderberries, highlighting her wide amber eyes. She looked very much like a woman of London society; soon to be an official member of the Harker family. She didn’t look like me at all.

  I turned away from my reflection, feeling like an actress who was dressed for a part in a play, about to take her place on stage. Indeed, whenever I attended one of these balls, I felt as if I were putting on a performance. Though Jonathan shared my disdain for such affairs, he always blended in perfectly, effortlessly engaging in polite conversation, while I struggled to follow all the rules of etiquette. Do not speak too loudly. Do not cross the ballroom unattended. Do not speak unless invited to, when spoken to, only offer brief replies. There were many more that I had been forced to learn; Mary had practically given me a course in ball etiquette after Jonathan and I were engaged.

  I began to tug on the gloves. Clara stopped me, tightly gripping both my hands in hers.

  “I’m here for you if you need ta talk,” she said, searching my eyes.

  I hesitated, tempted to tell her about Abe’s visit and the sense of being watched at the cemetery, but there was a knock at the door before I could speak. Clara reluctantly released my hands, leaving the room to answer it, and I watched her go. Guilt lingered in me because I had not confided in her, though I assured myself it was for the best.

  Jonathan had arrived in the Harker family carriage. He looked dashing in a black tailcoat with a white bow tie and winged collar. He bid Clara a warm farewell and kissed me softly before escorting me into the carriage. The carriage lurched and jolted over the streets as it made its way towards the Langham Hotel in the West End.

  “You look lovely, darling,” he said. “How will I distract myself from your beauty tonight?”

  “Perhaps playing our game will help,” I replied, with a teasing smile.

  I was relieved that he had returned to his usual cheerful self, and I was determined to enjoy my evening with him, casting aside the dark thoughts that had plagued me since Abe’s visit. Jonathan and I had invented a game of sorts every time we attended a society ball. We would keep track of how many times someone dropped the name of a royal or aristocrat in order to impress the listener, how many times someone would fail some arbitrary rule of etiquette, how many times someone looked quietly horrified when they learned that I was the daughter of Robert Murray and never had an official coming out. Our game made balls more tolerable, if not somewhat enjoyable.

  The carriage slowed to a crawl as it joined a slew of other carriages approaching the Langham, a sprawling beehive of a building that dominated the narrow street it occupied. Our carriage pulled to a complete stop near the crowded entrance of the hotel, and after our driver opened the door for us, we joined the stream of guests that flooded through the grand entrance and into the massive gilded lobby, which was illuminated with the glare of electric lights. We continued through the lobby with the other guests, reaching the cloak and hat rooms.

  As Jonathan headed towards the hat room, I entered the cloakroom. The room was a sea of color and fabric as the female guests took off their cloaks and handed them off to patiently waiting maids. After I handed my own cloak off to a shy young maid, I heard my whispered name and felt several pairs of eyes on me.

  I turned, spotting a group of women hovering by the exit. They stopped whispering amongst themselves when I turned, staring at me with open disdain. I recognized the woman who seemed to be their default leader, a sour-faced blonde dressed in an extravagant gown of pale lavender silk.

  I had encountered Jane Newton at several society functions. Like Mary, her dislike of me was plain, but I suspected it was born more from jealousy than my reputation. Her family was well acquainted with the Harkers, and it was quite obvious that she had expected Jonathan to court and propose to her. The fact that he had chosen such a social outcast for his bride only added to the insult.

  Taking a deep breath, I moved towards them, silently noting with pleasure their discomfort at my approach.

  “I’m already acquainted with Miss Newton,” I said politely, addressing Jane’s cohorts. “I’m Mina Murray.”

  The women remained stiff for a moment, but the manners that had been ingrained into each of them since birth took hold, and they stiffly gave me nods of greeting.

  “It is lovely to see you again, Miss Murray,” Jane lied. “I never had the opportunity to formally congratulate you on your engagement to Mister Harker.”

  “Thank you,” I returned, as she held my even gaze with her venomous one.

  “May I ask you something?” she asked, taking a step forward as she dramatically lowered her voice. “Is it true that your father was Robert Murray—that Cambridge professor who went mad and died pursuing one of his theories? How terribly tragic.”

  A hot burst of rage exploded in my chest at her words, and I clenched my hands into fists at my sides. Jane’s lips curled into a cheap imitation of a sympathetic smile, and the women around her could barely stifle their own smug smiles. I knew Jane was purposefully trying to upset me; she knew exactly who my father was.

  “My fiancé has spoken of you many times, Miss Newton,” I said calmly, deciding not to acknowledge her cruel inquiry. “He described you as a rather vapid childhood friend of his who loved him deeply. He told me he only felt pity for you.”

  This time, I had to suppress a smile of pleasure as Jane’s eyes snapped with fury, her smile freezing on her face. Her friends were silent with shock at my insult.

  “It was a pleasure, Miss Newton. I will share your well wishes with my fiancé. We will send out wedding invitations quite soon. I look forward to seeing you at our wedding.”

  I gave them a bright smile before turning to leave the cloakroom. As satisfying as it was to deliver the final verbal blow, her words about Father still stung, and I needed a moment to calm myself before stepping back out into the corridor.

  I was still shaken as I moved towards the entrance of the hat room to rejoin Jonathan. Father had become estranged from the wealthy family he was born into when he opted to pursue a life of science rather than work in the family business of finance, and I had only met his extended family on several occasions. He had made an active choice to not participate in society
events, finding them stuffy and austere, and I never had my formal coming out. He didn’t have many close friends when he died, and there had been very little mourning from society after his death.

  I was no stranger to the rumors that ran rampant regarding his mysterious death in Transylvania, and it should have been no surprise to me that the society he shunned in life had turned its back on him in death. But the general apathy regarding his death still stung.

  And now, a tiny voice in the back of my head mocked, you’ve become a part of the society that he so despised.

  I ignored the thought, and managed a bright smile when Jonathan stepped out of the hat room, taking my arm to escort me towards the ballroom. I knew if I told Jonathan about Jane’s insult he would insist on confronting her, and I didn’t want her to mar our entire evening.

  We entered the ballroom, where several ornate chandeliers hung from the ceiling in a long row, flooding the ballroom with dazzling electric light. Gold-edged pillars lined the walls, and the floor-to-ceiling windows were draped with curtains of fine gold gossamer to match the grandeur of the pillars. The tables, draped with tablecloths of intricate lace, were pushed to the side, allowing ample room for the guests to mingle and dance, and some guests had already begun to move towards the dance floor. At the far end of the room, an orchestra played the opening strains for the first dance of the evening, a waltz.

  After we made brief introductions with some of the guests, Jonathan led me out onto the dance floor. As we danced, I focused only on Jonathan, and all thoughts of Jane Newton soon faded away. The orchestra switched to a quadrille, and we reluctantly released each other to dance with other couples. By the end of the third dance, Jonathan took my arm and we moved towards the tables on the far edges of the ballroom for a break.

  “I counted three,” Jonathan said in a low voice, as we took our seats. “The wife of the barrister I danced with mentioned that she had her coming out at the queen’s court—three times.”

  “You’re already ahead of me,” I replied with mock disappointment. “My dance partners were perfectly mute. That is hardly fair.”

  “The night has just begun, darling. There are plenty of other dances,” Jonathan said with a smile. Disregarding all rules about public displays of affection, he lifted my gloved hand to his lips and placed a kiss on my wrist.

  “Jonathan?”

  Flushing, I placed my hand back in my lap, looking up as Peter Hawkins approached us, his anxious eyes focused only on Jonathan.

  “I apologize for my interruption, but there’s an urgent manner I need to discuss with you,” Peter said, giving us both an apologetic smile before his eyes once again settled on Jonathan. “You should find a gentleman to dance with your fiancée.”

  “If anyone asks me to dance, I will happily oblige him,” I said quickly, though I dreaded the thought of being stuck in conversation with some stuffy barrister.

  “I’ll return presently,” Jonathan said, squeezing my hand before getting to his feet to leave with Peter.

  I studied them with mild concern as they left, wondering what Peter wanted to discuss so urgently at this hour. The orchestra switched back to a waltz, and I relaxed in my seat as the couples on the dance floor moved into formation.

  A tall male figure suddenly appeared in front of me, and I nervously looked up, expecting to see said stuffy barrister.

  I froze when I saw who stood before me. Looking uncomfortable in his long black waistcoat, Abe extended a hand towards me, his expression quietly exigent.

  “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”

  I stared at Abe in disbelief. Once my initial shock passed over his second abrupt appearance, I instinctively looked past him at Jonathan’s retreating form. He was still walking with Peter towards the lobby, deep in discussion, without a glance back.

  “What are you doing here?” I hissed. “I told you—”

  “People are beginning to stare, Mina. You have not given me a response,” Abe replied, illustrating his point by extending his hand further.

  I took a hasty look around. Several nearby guests were taking in our interaction with blatant interest. Across the room, Jane Newton was looking back and forth between me and Abe with narrowed eyes. I knew that I could not make a scene. Not here.

  I grudgingly accepted his hand, allowing him to escort me to the dance floor. I stiffened as he pulled me close, once again acutely aware of his body so close to mine. We began to dance, and I forced a cordial smile for the sake of any curious onlookers.

  “I don’t know what you expect from me,” I said in a low tone, still smiling. “If there is some sort of threat in London, let Scotland Yard handle it.”

  “You would not let me finish yesterday. The Ripper murders—it is not just prostitutes or even the poor who are being murdered or going missing.” Abe’s voice was as low as mine, a polite smile also pinned on his face, belying the urgency of his tone and the darkness of his words. “Upper-class men and women are being violently murdered as well, in neighborhoods like Mayfair and Saint James. Even in areas outside of London—Hertfordshire, Kent, Surrey. Over a dozen in the past month alone.”

  The smile froze on my face, and a chill spread through me as I stared at him with both horror and incredulity.

  “Scotland Yard wants the public to believe the Ripper only targets prostitutes in Whitechapel. If the public knew that respectable people were being murdered as well, the panic would be immeasurable. The police worked with the press to sensationalize the prostitute murders to draw attention away from what was—is—happening.”

  “How do you know this?” I whispered.

  “Inspector Seward, my friend and contact at Scotland Yard. Jack believes that there is more than one killer at large in London. I agree with him, but I do not think that they are human.”

  The music switched once again to a quadrille, but I remained rooted to the spot, my heart thundering wildly in my chest as I stared at Abe. He stepped forward, his lips close to my ear now, ensuring that I was the only one who could hear his next words.

  “I believe that what happened to Arthur’s wife and the Ripper murders are linked by the creature we encountered in Transylvania. I believe it is here in London.”

  5

  Creatures Of Myth And Nightmare

  As Abe’s words sunk in, the memories of what I had seen in Transylvania flooded my mind’s eye. The rumors of bodies drained of blood. The haunted faces of the villagers as they insisted that the strigoi walked among them. My father as he lay dead in that forest clearing, eyes permanently frozen wide in terror.

  I took a faltering step back from Abe, shaking my head, as if to rid myself of the images. It could not be. Vampires were creatures of myth and nightmare; creatures who did not exist. Could not exist. The thought that they were real and here in London filled me with overwhelming terror.

  Around us, the other guests had begun to dance the quadrille, casting us with curious looks. I could only imagine the gossip that would spread at the small scene Abe and I were making, but I found that I did not care. I took another step back from Abe, who was studying me with both concern and continued urgency.

  “I–I need air,” I stammered, turning to stumble blindly away through the crowd.

  All sense of decorum forgotten, I pushed through the guests, ignoring their startled cries as I made my way off the crowded dance floor, weaving past the cluster of tables until I reached the rear balcony.

  To my great relief it was empty, and I breathed in the refreshing, cool night air. I made my way to the rails of the balcony and leaned heavily against them. I heard Abe’s footfalls behind me, and drew another wavering breath before turning around to face him.

  He stopped several feet away. I could tell that he was desperate to continue, but he remained silent, waiting for me to speak.

  “Why?” I asked. “If . . . if you believe this to be true, why would such creatures be here in London, targeting the upper-classes? Or the poor?”

  “I do n
ot know.” Abe looked utterly baffled as he shook his head. “But I do know that similar murders and disappearances are happening in cities all around Europe—Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam. You are the only other person I know who’s seen what I have seen. I have told Seward everything, and based on what he has seen, he believes me. But he would not dare bring up my theory to his colleagues. They would have us both committed.”

  “I still don’t know how you expect me to help you. If vamp—if such creatures truly exist and are here in London, then I have no idea why. Surely, you’ve heard the rumors about my father? Even if I did come forward with what I saw in Transylvania, everyone would assume I’ve gone mad as well.”

  “You have more insight than you realize. At least speak to Jack and tell him what you saw. You do not have to detail what happened to your father, if that is what concerns you. He is already aware. You can help with—”

  “No,” I interrupted, fervently shaking my head. “I’ve already told you—I’m no longer a part of any of this and I can’t help you. Please just leave me be.”

  I started to move past him to head back inside; but Abe stood firmly in my path.

  “Abe, I insist that you—”

  “Just answer me this one question, Mina,” he interrupted. His voice had fallen flat, the desperation and urgency now gone. I studied him. His eyes were now blank, his expression guarded.

  “Only if you give me your word that you will leave me be,” I said, disconcerted by his sudden change of tone.

  “You have it. I will not bother you again.”

  “All right,” I said warily. “What is it?”

  “Do you love him?”

  It was such an abrupt change from what we’d been discussing that I was momentarily taken aback. Abe was no longer looking directly at me; instead, he was focused on some arbitrary point past my shoulder. I knew that he was trying to appear neutral, though he could not hide the vulnerability in his eyes.