The Cursed Castle

Chapter 14

He will only say, ‘I don’t take any stock in cats. I have

more to think of now, and I can wait. I can wait.’

After a while I left him. The attendant tells me that he

was quiet until just before dawn, and that then he began to

get uneasy, and at length violent, until at last he fell into a

paroxysm which exhausted him so that he swooned into a

sort of coma.

… Three nights has the same thing happened, violent all

day then quiet from moonrise to sunrise. I wish I could get

some clue to the cause. It would almost seem as if there was

some influence which came and went. Happy thought! We

shall tonight play sane wits against mad ones. He escaped

before without our help. Tonight he shall escape with it. We

shall give him a chance, and have the men ready to follow

in case they are required.

23 August.—‘The expected always happens.’ How well

Disraeli knew life. Our bird when he found the cage open

would not fly, so all our subtle arrangements were for

nought. At any rate, we have proved one thing, that the

spells of quietness last a reasonable time. We shall in future

be able to ease his bonds for a few hours each day. I have given orders to the night attendant merely to shut him in the

padded room, when once he is quiet, until the hour before

sunrise. The poor soul’s body will enjoy the relief even if his

mind cannot appreciate it. Hark! The unexpected again! I

am called. The patient has once more escaped.

Later.—Another night adventure. Renfield artfully waited until the attendant was entering the room to inspect.

Then he dashed out past him and flew down the passage. I sent word for the attendants to follow. Again he went into

the grounds of the deserted house, and we found him in

the same place, pressed against the old chapel door. When

he saw me he became furious, and had not the attendants

seized him in time, he would have tried to kill me. As we

were holding him a strange thing happened. He suddenly redoubled his efforts, and then as suddenly grew calm.

I looked round instinctively, but could see nothing. Then

I caught the patient’s eye and followed it, but could trace

nothing as it looked into the moonlight sky, except a big bat,

which was flapping its silent and ghostly way to the west.

Bats usually wheel about, but this one seemed to go straight

on, as if it knew where it was bound for or had some intention of its own.

The patient grew calmer every instant, and presently said,

‘You needn’t tie me. I shall go quietly!’ Without trouble, we

came back to the house. I feel there is something ominous

in his calm, and shall not forget this night.

Skyler WESTENRA’S DIARY

Hillingham, 24 August.—I must imitate Mina, and keep

writing things down. Then we can have long talks when we

do meet. I wonder when it will be. I wish she were with me

again, for I feel so unhappy. Last night I seemed to be dreaming again just as I was at Whitby. Perhaps it is the change of

air, or getting home again. It is all dark and horrid to me, for

I can remember nothing. But I am full of vague fear, and I

feel so weak and worn out. When Arthur came to lunch he

looked quite grieved when he saw me, and I hadn’t the spirit

to try to be cheerful. I wonder if I could sleep in mother’s room tonight. I shall make an excuse to try.

25 August.—Another bad night. Mother did not seem to

take to my proposal. She seems not too well herself, and

doubtless she fears to worry me. I tried to keep awake, and

succeeded for a while, but when the clock struck twelve it

waked me from a doze, so I must have been falling asleep.

There was a sort of scratching or flapping at the window, but

I did not mind it, and as I remember no more, I suppose I

must have fallen asleep. More bad dreams. I wish I could

remember them. This morning I am horribly weak. My face

is ghastly pale, and my throat pains me. It must be something wrong with my lungs, for I don’t seem to be getting air

enough. I shall try to cheer up when Arthur comes, or else I

know he will be miserable to see me so.

LETTER, ARTHUR TO DR. SEWARD

‘Albemarle Hotel, 31 August ‘My dear Jack,

‘I want you to do me a favour. Skyler is ill, that is she has

no special disease, but she looks awful, and is getting worse

every day. I have asked her if there is any cause, I not dare

to ask her mother, for to disturb the poor lady’s mind about

her daughter in her present state of health would be fatal.

Mrs. Westenra has confided to me that her doom is spoken, disease of the heart, though poor Skyler does not know

it yet. I am sure that there is something preying on my dear

girl’s mind. I am almost distracted when I think of her. To

look at her gives me a pang. I told her I should ask you to

see her, and though she demurred at first, I know why, old

fellow, she finally consented. It will be a painful task for

you, I know, old friend, but it is for her sake, and I must not hesitate to ask, or you to act. You are to come to lunch at

Hillingham tomorrow, two o’clock, so as not to arouse any

suspicion in Mrs. Westenra, and after lunch Skyler will take

an opportunity of being alone with you. I am filled with

anxiety, and want to consult with you alone as soon as I can

after you have seen her. Do not fail!

‘Arthur.’

TELEGRAM, ARTHUR HOLMWOOD TO SEWARD

1 September

‘Am summoned to see my father, who is worse. Am writing. Write me fully by tonight’s post to Ring. Wire me if

necessary.’

LETTER FROM DR. SEWARD TO ARTHUR HOLMWOOD

2 September

‘My dear old fellow,

‘With regard to Miss Westenra’s health I hasten to let you

know at once that in my opinion there is not any functional

disturbance or any malady that I know of. At the same time,

I am not by any means satisfied with her appearance. She

is woefully different from what she was when I saw her last.

Of course you must bear in mind that I did not have full opportunity of examination such as I should wish. Our very

friendship makes a little difficulty which not even medical science or custom can bridge over. I had better tell you

exactly what happened, leaving you to draw, in a measure,

your own conclusions. I shall then say what I have done and

propose doing.

‘I found Miss Westenra in seemingly gay spirits. Her mother was present, and in a few seconds I made up my

mind that she was trying all she knew to mislead her mother and prevent her from being anxious. I have no doubt she

guesses, if she does not know, what need of caution there is.

‘We lunched alone, and as we all exerted ourselves to be

cheerful, we got, as some kind of reward for our labours,

some real cheerfulness amongst us. Then Mrs. Westenra

went to lie down, and Skyler was left with me. We went into

her boudoir, and till we got there her gaiety remained, for

the servants were coming and going.

‘As soon as the door was closed, however, the mask fell

from her face, and she sank down into a chair with a great

sigh, and hid her eyes with her hand. When I saw that her

high spirits had failed, I at once took advantage of her reaction to make a diagnosis.

‘She said to me very sweetly, ‘I cannot tell you how I

loathe talking about myself.’ I reminded her that a doctor’s

confidence was sacred, but that you were grievously anxious about her. She caught on to my meaning at once, and

settled that matter in a word. ‘Tell Arthur everything you

choose. I do not care for myself, but for him!’ So I am quite

free.

‘I could easily see that she was somewhat bloodless, but

I could not see the usual anemic signs, and by the chance, I

was able to test the actual quality of her blood, for in opening a window which was stiff a cord gave way, and she cut

her hand slightly with broken glass. It was a slight matter in

itself, but it gave me an evident chance, and I secured a few

drops of the blood and have analysed them The qualitative analysis give a quite normal condition,

and shows, I should infer, in itself a vigorous state of health.

In other physical matters I was quite satisfied that there is

no need for anxiety, but as there must be a cause somewhere,

I have come to the conclusion that it must be something

mental.

‘She complains of difficulty breathing satisfactorily at

times, and of heavy, lethargic sleep, with dreams that frighten her, but regarding which she can remember nothing. She

says that as a child, she used to walk in her sleep, and that

when in Whitby the habit came back, and that once she

walked out in the night and went to East Cliff, where Miss

Murray found her. But she assures me that of late the habit

has not returned.

‘I am in doubt, and so have done the best thing I know

of. I have written to my old friend and master, Professor

Van Helsing, of Amsterdam, who knows as much about obscure diseases as any one in the world. I have asked him to

come over, and as you told me that all things were to be at

your charge, I have mentioned to him who you are and your

relations to Miss Westenra. This, my dear fellow, is in obedience to your wishes, for I am only too proud and happy to

do anything I can for her.

‘Van Helsing would, I know, do anything for me for a

personal reason, so no matter on what ground he comes,

we must accept his wishes. He is a seemingly arbitrary man,

this is because he knows what he is talking about better

than any one else. He is a philosopher and a metaphysician,

and one of the most advanced scientists of his day, and he has, I believe, an absolutely open mind. This, with an iron

nerve, a temper of the ice-brook, and indomitable resolution, self-command, and toleration exalted from virtues

to blessings, and the kindliest and truest heart that beats,

these form his equipment for the noble work that he is doing for mankind, work both in theory and practice, for his

views are as wide as his all-embracing sympathy. I tell you

these facts that you may know why I have such confidence

in him. I have asked him to come at once. I shall see Miss

Westenra tomorrow again. She is to meet me at the Stores,

so that I may not alarm her mother by too early a repetition

of my call.

‘Yours always.’

John Seward

LETTER, ABRAHAM VAN HELSING, MD, DPh, D.

Lit, ETC, ETC, TO DR. SEWARD

2 September.

‘My good Friend,

‘When I received your letter I am already coming to you.

By good fortune I can leave just at once, without wrong

to any of those who have trusted me. Were fortune other,

then it were bad for those who have trusted, for I come to

my friend when he call me to aid those he holds dear. Tell

your friend that when that time you suck from my wound