Atlas Nightshade

Day 39

CHAPTER XIII

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY--_continued_.

The funeral was arranged for the next succeeding day, so that Lucy and

her mother might be buried together. I attended to all the ghastly

formalities, and the urbane undertaker proved that his staff were

afflicted--or blessed--with something of his own obsequious suavity.

Even the woman who performed the last offices for the dead remarked to

me, in a confidential, brother-professional way, when she had come out

from the death-chamber:--

"She makes a very beautiful corpse, sir. It's quite a privilege to

attend on her. It's not too much to say that she will do credit to our

establishment!"

I noticed that Van Helsing never kept far away. This was possible from

the disordered state of things in the household. There were no relatives

at hand; and as Arthur had to be back the next day to attend at his

father's funeral, we were unable to notify any one who should have been

bidden. Under the circumstances, Van Helsing and I took it upon

ourselves to examine papers, etc. He insisted upon looking over Lucy's

papers himself. I asked him why, for I feared that he, being a

foreigner, might not be quite aware of English legal requirements, and

so might in ignorance make some unnecessary trouble. He answered me:--

"I know; I know. You forget that I am a lawyer as well as a doctor. But

this is not altogether for the law. You knew that, when you avoided the

coroner. I have more than him to avoid. There may be papers more--such

as this."

As he spoke he took from his pocket-book the memorandum which had been

in Lucy's breast, and which she had torn in her sleep.

"When you find anything of the solicitor who is for the late Mrs.

Westenra, seal all her papers, and write him to-night. For me, I watch

here in the room and in Miss Lucy's old room all night, and I myself

search for what may be. It is not well that her very thoughts go into

the hands of strangers."

I went on with my part of the work, and in another half hour had found

the name and address of Mrs. Westenra's solicitor and had written to

him. All the poor lady's papers were in order; explicit directions

regarding the place of burial were given. I had hardly sealed the

letter, when, to my surprise, Van Helsing walked into the room,

saying:--

"Can I help you, friend John? I am free, and if I may, my service is to

you."

"Have you got what you looked for?" I asked, to which he replied:--

"I did not look for any specific thing. I only hoped to find, and find I

have, all that there was--only some letters and a few memoranda, and a

diary new begun. But I have them here, and we shall for the present say

nothing of them. I shall see that poor lad to-morrow evening, and, with

his sanction, I shall use some."

When we had finished the work in hand, he said to me:--

"And now, friend John, I think we may to bed. We want sleep, both you

and I, and rest to recuperate. To-morrow we shall have much to do, but

for the to-night there is no need of us. Alas!"

Before turning in we went to look at poor Lucy. The undertaker had

certainly done his work well, for the room was turned into a small

_chapelle ardente_. There was a wilderness of beautiful white flowers,

and death was made as little repulsive as might be. The end of the

winding-sheet was laid over the face; when the Professor bent over and

turned it gently back, we both started at the beauty before us, the tall

wax candles showing a sufficient light to note it well. All Lucy's

loveliness had come back to her in death, and the hours that had passed,

instead of leaving traces of "decay's effacing fingers," had but

restored the beauty of life, till positively I could not believe my eyes

that I was looking at a corpse.

The Professor looked sternly grave. He had not loved her as I had, and

there was no need for tears in his eyes. He said to me: "Remain till I

return," and left the room. He came back with a handful of wild garlic

from the box waiting in the hall, but which had not been opened, and

placed the flowers amongst the others on and around the bed. Then he

took from his neck, inside his collar, a little gold crucifix, and

placed it over the mouth. He restored the sheet to its place, and we

came away.

I was undressing in my own room, when, with a premonitory tap at the

door, he entered, and at once began to speak:--

"To-morrow I want you to bring me, before night, a set of post-mortem

knives."

"Must we make an autopsy?" I asked.

"Yes and no. I want to operate, but not as you think. Let me tell you

now, but not a word to another. I want to cut off her head and take out

her heart. Ah! you a surgeon, and so shocked! You, whom I have seen with

no tremble of hand or heart, do operations of life and death that make

the rest shudder. Oh, but I must not forget, my dear friend John, that

you loved her; and I have not forgotten it, for it is I that shall

operate, and you must only help. I would like to do it to-night, but for

Arthur I must not; he will be free after his father's funeral to-morrow,

and he will want to see her--to see _it_. Then, when she is coffined

ready for the next day, you and I shall come when all sleep. We shall

unscrew the coffin-lid, and shall do our operation: and then replace

all, so that none know, save we alone."

"But why do it at all? The girl is dead. Why mutilate her poor body

without need? And if there is no necessity for a post-mortem and nothing

to gain by it--no good to her, to us, to science, to human

knowledge--why do it? Without such it is monstrous."

For answer he put his hand on my shoulder, and said, with infinite

tenderness:--

"Friend John, I pity your poor bleeding heart; and I love you the more

because it does so bleed. If I could, I would take on myself the burden

that you do bear. But there are things that you know not, but that you

shall know, and bless me for knowing, though they are not pleasant

things. John, my child, you have been my friend now many years, and yet

did you ever know me to do any without good cause? I may err--I am but

man; but I believe in all I do. Was it not for these causes that you

send for me when the great trouble came? Yes! Were you not amazed, nay

horrified, when I would not let Arthur kiss his love--though she was

dying--and snatched him away by all my strength? Yes! And yet you saw

how she thanked me, with her so beautiful dying eyes, her voice, too, so

weak, and she kiss my rough old hand and bless me? Yes! And did you not

hear me swear promise to her, that so she closed her eyes grateful? Yes!

"Well, I have good reason now for all I want to do. You have for many

years trust me; you have believe me weeks past, when there be things so

strange that you might have well doubt. Believe me yet a little, friend

John. If you trust me not, then I must tell what I think; and that is

not perhaps well. And if I work--as work I shall, no matter trust or no

trust--without my friend trust in me, I work with heavy heart and feel,

oh! so lonely when I want all help and courage that may be!" He paused a

moment and went on solemnly: "Friend John, there are strange and

terrible days before us. Let us not be two, but one, that so we work to

a good end. Will you not have faith in me?"

I took his hand, and promised him. I held my door open as he went away,

and watched him go into his room and close the door. As I stood without

moving, I saw one of the maids pass silently along the passage--she had

her back towards me, so did not see me--and go into the room where Lucy

lay. The sight touched me. Devotion is so rare, and we are so grateful

to those who show it unasked to those we love. Here was a poor girl

putting aside the terrors which she naturally had of death to go watch

alone by the bier of the mistress whom she loved, so that the poor clay

might not be lonely till laid to eternal rest....

* * * * *

I must have slept long and soundly, for it was broad daylight when Van

Helsing waked me by coming into my room. He came over to my bedside and

said:--

"You need not trouble about the knives; we shall not do it."

"Why not?" I asked. For his solemnity of the night before had greatly

impressed me.

"Because," he said sternly, "it is too late--or too early. See!" Here he

held up the little golden crucifix. "This was stolen in the night."

"How, stolen," I asked in wonder, "since you have it now?"

"Because I get it back from the worthless wretch who stole it, from the

woman who robbed the dead and the living. Her punishment will surely

come, but not through me; she knew not altogether what she did and thus

unknowing, she only stole. Now we must wait."

He went away on the word, leaving me with a new mystery to think of, a

new puzzle to grapple with.

The forenoon was a dreary time, but at noon the solicitor came: Mr.

Marquand, of Wholeman, Sons, Marquand & Lidderdale. He was very genial

and very appreciative of what we had done, and took off our hands all

cares as to details. During lunch he told us that Mrs. Westenra had for

some time expected sudden death from her heart, and had put her affairs

in absolute order; he informed us that, with the exception of a certain

entailed property of Lucy's father's which now, in default of direct

issue, went back to a distant branch of the family, the whole estate,

real and personal, was left absolutely to Arthur Holmwood. When he had

told us so much he went on:--

"Frankly we did our best to prevent such a testamentary disposition, and

pointed out certain contingencies that might leave her daughter either

penniless or not so free as she should be to act regarding a matrimonial

alliance. Indeed, we pressed the matter so far that we almost came into

collision, for she asked us if we were or were not prepared to carry out

her wishes. Of course, we had then no alternative but to accept. We were

right in principle, and ninety-nine times out of a hundred we should

have proved, by the logic of events, the accuracy of our judgment.

Frankly, however, I must admit that in this case any other form of

disposition would have rendered impossible the carrying out of her

wishes. For by her predeceasing her daughter the latter would have come

into possession of the property, and, even had she only survived her

mother by five minutes, her property would, in case there were no

will--and a will was a practical impossibility in such a case--have been

treated at her decease as under intestacy. In which case Lord Godalming,

though so dear a friend, would have had no claim in the world; and the

inheritors, being remote, would not be likely to abandon their just

rights, for sentimental reasons regarding an entire stranger. I assure

you, my dear sirs, I am rejoiced at the result, perfectly rejoiced."

He was a good fellow, but his rejoicing at the one little part--in which

he was officially interested--of so great a tragedy, was an

object-lesson in the limitations of sympathetic understanding.

He did not remain long, but said he would look in later in the day and

see Lord Godalming. His coming, however, had been a certain comfort to

us, since it assured us that we should not have to dread hostile

criticism as to any of our acts. Arthur was expected at five o'clock, so

a little before that time we visited the death-chamber. It was so in

very truth, for now both mother and daughter lay in it. The undertaker,

true to his craft, had made the best display he could of his goods, and

there was a mortuary air about the place that lowered our spirits at

once. Van Helsing ordered the former arrangement to be adhered to,

explaining that, as Lord Godalming was coming very soon, it would be

less harrowing to his feelings to see all that was left of his _fiancée_

quite alone. The undertaker seemed shocked at his own stupidity and

exerted himself to restore things to the condition in which we left them

the night before, so that when Arthur came such shocks to his feelings

as we could avoid were saved.