Dracula's Ghost - Chapter 9
Part II: A Man of Diabolical Cast
London
1893
Quincy Morris sips from the flask - good Irish whiskey - and enjoys the afternoon sunshine as he tries not to contemplate his own misery. Arthur was there at the end, along with Jack Seward and Abraham Van Helsing, and he is glad that Lucy did not die alone. Still, his heart aches, and Quincy knows full well that his grief is not simply for Arthur’s loss. At the funeral, he peered into the open casket, and she was beautiful, more beautiful even than she had been in life, and Quincy finds it hard to reconcile Lucy’s appearance in death - God’s own angel now - with the wasting disease that has ravaged her body for the past month. During her illness, he sat with her, at Arthur’s request, and she slept fitfully, talking in her sleep of Whitby, of a ship and its missing crew, of a stray dog in the cemetery. A few inquiries revealed that during her stay, a ship had crashed in a storm, and the notion troubles him for some reason, as if the strange event is connected with her illness. She left for a summer holiday, perfectly healthy, and was already dying when she returned to London.
He takes Arthur shooting afterward - Arthur is a better wingshot, but Quincy bests him easily at pistols - to get him out of the city and to take his mind off his fiancé’s death. The field reminds him of Hampstead Heath, the open area just beyond Lucy’s tomb, but Arthur seems not to notice. Indeed, Arthur seems distracted, and it is only later, after drinks, that he opens up.
“I had a strange dream last night - Lucy was waiting for me outside my bedroom window.” Quincy wonders whether Arthur is confessing an early consummation of his impending marriage, but something about his friend’s manner seems off. His grandmother once said that the dead spoke in dreams, and perhaps Lucy is reaching out with a final message of undying love.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing. She merely watched from outside as if she wanted to be let in.” Arthur looks fearful, and Quincy supposes that the rising of a dead lover is not always viewed with equanimity. Arthur had slept late that morning, and when he had knocked on the bedroom door, Quincy had found Abraham Van Helsing there, inspecting the windows in the morning sunlight. Perhaps, the old Dutchman suggested, Arthur should stay away from London for a while.
The morning paper is on the table, and Quincy flips through the pages to the financial section, ignoring the headline on the front page.
HAMPSTEAD HORROR - ANOTHER CHILD INJURED
I.
Marseille
1933
She landed shortly after nine, and a taxi carried her to the British Consulate. A necessary trip, but an unpleasant one. Amy had flown with the dead, once returning the corpse of an Earl from a Silesian hunting lodge to his resting place in London, and this trip seemed less the transport of a living boy than a ghost flight with the specter of his missing mother. When car arrived an hour later, Amy was struck by the familial resemblance. With the sandy hair and solemn face, Archie Spencer was a child-sized copy of his grandfather. The boy sat beside her, silent, as the Consulate delivered them to the airfield.
“Have you ever flown in an airplane?” she asked. Archie shook his head.
“Do you have any questions for me before we leave?”
“Has anyone heard from my mama?” The brown eyes gazed into her own with childlike certainty. Looking to the grown-ups, who have the answers. Amy had looked at her father like that when her mother died.
“I don’t know, Archie.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps they’ll know more when we get to London. Let’s get to the plane, and I’ll take you to your grandfather.”
II.
Munich
If I were in his shoes, what would I want?
Reinhard Heydrich spent the morning pondering his next moves. He wanted to knock on the old man’s door himself, just to see the look on Jonathan Harker’s face, and he chided himself for such frivolity. A professional did not take risks to salve a wounded ego, and besides, it would do no good to alert the old man while he was safely in London.
The initial contact would be simple enough, but directing Harker to a rendezvous point where he could be safely apprehended, and where his own men would not be met by a squad of police, was more difficult. Heydrich leafed through his notes, searching for an answer. The train from Paris to Bucharest runs through Munich, he thought. Send him to a location that he knows, such as the big church in the center of Bistritz, and he will fall into your hands. They could snatch him from the train in Munich, or if that option failed, from the railway platform in Bistritz. Once Harker was safely in custody, they could assure the return of his daughter once the location of the castle was known. After all, hope was eternal, even among those who should know better.
If I were in his shoes, what would I want? Reinhard Heydrich knew the answer well enough. Jonathan Harker had driven him from London, pursued him to the very threshold of his home in Romania, and - if one took the Englishman’s words at face value - had stolen his very life. Or had come close, at any rate - the events of 1929 suggested a less tidy ending to Harker’s story. If I were Dracula, I would want vengeance on the man who had wronged me. Reinhard Heydrich would be the instrument of that revenge, and once it was accomplished, the thing he desired would be his for the taking.
III.
German Border Crossing
Near Salzburg
The car idled at the checkpoint as a guard checked their papers for the third time. Sarah watched as Hans entered the outpost, a ramshackle structure little bigger than a garden shed. He returned five minutes later and responded to Richard’s silent query, a single raised eyebrow, with a shake of the head. Something is wrong, Sarah thought, as Richard slid the camera beneath the seat. That morning, Hans had pulled the car to the shoulder at one of the overlooks that dotted the Alps. He handed her a newspaper, carefully folded to display the date, as Richard grinned at her from the other side of the lens. “Lächeln, Frau Spenser!” Sarah had taken a little comfort from that photograph. They want someone to know that I’m still alive. Still, if things went wrong at the border, there was nothing to stop them from cutting her throat and leaving her body in a ravine. Proof of her escape from the ship might be sufficient for a ransom demand. Beyond that, the still-living Sarah Spencer was a liability.
The Mercedes arrived from the German side of the checkpoint, and four men exited the car. Three of them wore uniforms and carried rifles, and the fourth, a well-dressed man in a single-breasted suit and matching fedora, spoke with the border guards. She glanced at Richard, and the German raised a finger to his lips as the newcomers approached the car. The well-dressed man tapped on the rear window and beckoned to her with a wave of his hand. Richard grabbed her upper arm as she reached for the door handle, and she rolled down the window instead.
“State your business in Bavaria, please.” Hans spoke a few words in German, and the stranger interrupted, looking directly at her. “In English. That way, we can all understand.”
“The woman,” Hans gestured to the back seat, “is in Germany on National Socialist party business. Anything more than that is not your concern.”
“Interesting.” The man studied her, and Sarah tried to read the expression in the gray eyes. Behind him, the uniformed guards stood in a loose semicircle. “You’re here on official business, and yet you have no passport. Do you care to explain yourself?”
Richard’s hand crept toward his waistband, and three rifles pointed at the car window in quick succession. Their leader ignored the movement and stared into her eyes. If they start shooting, I’ll be killed in the crossfire.
“My name is Sarah Spencer, and I have been kidnapped by these men. Please help me.”
The leader spoke a terse command, and they were pulled from the car. He opened Sarah’s door and motioned toward the black Mercedes.
“I know who you are, Frau Spencer,” he said, sliding into the front seat beside her. Richard’s camera was hanging around his neck. “If you want to see London again, I can help you, but we need to move before the guards figure out what’s going on.”
He reversed the car and performed a three-point-turn. Sarah watched the border post recede in the mirror and wondered whether she made the right decision.
IV.
Bavaria
He drove through the mountains, putting his weight into the steering wheel as the big car negotiated the sharp turns. Diels’s idea was sheer lunacy, and if the incident at the border post didn’t get them killed, this certainly would. Still, it has a certain logic, Sigmund thought. The roads to Berlin would be closed, and the crossings to Czechoslovakia and Poland would be carefully monitored. And there’s no way in hell that I’ll drive toward Munich.
From the corner of his eye, he studied his passenger. Her blonde hair was disheveled, and the brown eyes were a touch too large for the face. Perhaps it was the thinness of her frame - her cheekbones were a little too prominent, and Sigmund wondered when she last had a proper meal. Her dress, a summer outfit unsuited for the alpine climate, was muddy and torn at one seam. She’s quite pretty, if a little worse for wear. She caught him looking and flashed an uneasy smile.
They drove through Berchtesgaden and ascended a series of narrow switchbacks. Near the top, he pulled into the driveway of a modest chalet and killed the motor. Behind them, the sun was low in the western sky.
“Make yourself at home.” Sigmund unlocked the door and motioned for her to follow. “The owner is away in Berlin, but there’s food in the pantry and wood for the fireplace. I think you’ll even find clean clothes.”
“Am I still a prisoner?” she asked him.
“You can walk out the door right now, and I will not stop you,” he said. “However, you are alone in a hostile country, and the border crossings will be guarded. If you slip into the forest, and if you survive with no food or warm clothes, you might make it to Austria. Perhaps they will send you home when they catch you, and perhaps they will return you to Germany – I honestly don’t know what will happen. But if you give me a few days, I can get you home.”
“I want to go home now,” she said. “Not in a few days. I want to see my son.”
She stood at the window, and Sigmund moved to her side. Outside, the last rays of sunlight bathed the stone peaks in soft hues of pink and illuminated the stands of larch and spruce in bright green. At lower elevations, the sun would be hidden from view, and the temperature would drop with the encroaching twilight.
“Right now,” he said, “your kidnappers are searching for you, but they can’t be everywhere at once. The trick is to find a place where they aren’t watching.”
“And then what?” She did not look up from the window.
“They’ll expect us to go west, toward France, or east to Vienna. When I find an unguarded crossing, we will go south.” He started to place a hand on her shoulder and thought better of it. “Once you’re safely out of Germany, I can take you as far as Switzerland. With no passport, the Swiss will arrest you, but they won’t send you back here.”
She did not look up from the window. “And if they find us before then?”
“They won’t.” He smiled at the sheer audacity of Diels’ plan. No one would be stupid enough to do what we just did.
V.
Great West Aerodrome
London
The plane landed at nine-thirty, and Jonathan met Amy on the tarmac.
“Hello, John,” she said. “Sorry for the long wait, but everything takes longer when you don’t speak the language.”
“You’re here, and that’s all that matters. How is he?”
“As good as one can be, under the circumstances.” Amy’s brow wrinkled. “He barely spoke to me the whole way.”
“Any luggage?
“No, sir. They’ll send it when the ship arrives.”
Jonathan squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Amy. I owe you more than I can ever repay.”
Amy opened the co-pilot’s door and helped Archie from the plane. Five years since I saw him last, and I could have picked him out of a crowd.
“Hello Archie,” he said. “Do you remember me?”
“Yes, Grandpa.” The boy folded into his arms, and Jonathan hugged him for a long time.
The car park was mostly empty, but a car occupied the space next to his own. Wordlessly, Horace opened the rear door.
“Archie, can you wait in my car for a minute?” He saw the expression on the boy’s face and added, “I’ll be right outside, and I won’t be long.” Reluctantly, Archie climbed into the front seat.
“My lady.” Jonathan tipped his hat.
Katherine Holmwood gave him a sharp look. “We’ve known each other too long for formality.” She glanced into Jonathan’s car, and her expression softened. “I wanted to help, if there’s anything an old woman can do for you. I was always so fond of Sarah – such a sweet girl.”
“Doubtless learned from her mother,” Jonathan said, smiling. He glanced toward Horace. “Can we speak in private?”
She nodded. “Horace, please wait in the car for a moment.” Horace folded himself into the front seat, and she waited for Jonathan to continue.
“Kate, I don’t know what’s happening, but I am worried, perhaps for both of us.”
“Quite the run of misery, isn’t it?” Katherine Holmwood nodded slowly. “First, Jack, and now Sarah. Do you believe that one of us could be next?”
“It’s possible.”
“I’ll tell Horace to keep watch for anything unusual.” She paused, watching the night sky. “It always circles back to the three of you, doesn’t it? Harker, Holmwood, and Seward. What have you been covering for all these years?” She shook her head. “It’s a rhetorical question, of course. After decades of silence, I don’t expect an answer.”
“I’ll tell you what, Kate.” Jonathan was too overwhelmed by recent events for his usual agitation. “Give me a few weeks, and I’ll make everything clear.”
“Giving me your last confession?” Lady Godalming looked skeptical.
“I doubt you’ll believe a word of it, but I have some things that will help you to understand.” Jonathan paused. “If you want them.”
“Of course, I want them. After all these years, why wouldn’t I?”
Because some graves should never be opened, he thought.
Sometime after midnight, he heard Archie moaning in his sleep. Jonathan rose from his own bed and went to the boy’s room. Stretching out on the bed, Jonathan cradled his grandson, unable to sleep as the sky grew lighter in the east.