There was a knock at the door. Lucy rose from her chair in the parlor, intrigued. Uncle Abram was not expecting anyone, and they rarely had visitors. Gustav, the butler, opened the door. Lucy heard an unfamiliar voice answer. "Please tell Mr. Van Helsing that Count Dracula is here to see him; it is a matter of utmost importance." There was a strange cadence to the man's voice, an unusual accent that Lucy had never heard before. And something about his name seemed vaguely familiar. She peered around the corner, trying to see past Gustav to get a look at him.
"I shall tell him, sir," Gustav replied, and turned suddenly towards the stairs. Lucy hastily ducked back into the parlor; she was far too old to be peeping around corners.
"Good evening, young lady," the strange voice called to her.
So she had been seen, after all. Face flushed, she came into the hall to greet him properly. "Good evening, sir," she replied. He was dressed in a black suit, with a long black cape around his shoulders. His face was handsome, his features distinguished. At first Lucy estimated his age to be around thirty, but then was struck with the curious sensation that he was both older and younger.
There were no wrinkles on his forehead, no lines of unpleasantness around his mouth; his face was quite youthful, but for the eyes. They were dark, almost black, and there seemed to be a great amount of weariness to them. They were eyes that had seen many years and many horrors, timeless eyes, tired eyes. An old soul, Lucy thought. She remembered where she had heard his name before. "You say your name is Dracula? You must be Uncle Abram's old friend from the war! No, that cannot be," she amended, "for that was nearly forty years ago. He knew your father, perhaps?"
"My family will forever be indebted to Abram Van Helsing," he agreed. "I beg your pardon, but may I know your name?"
"Lucy Westenra."
A look of confusion crossed his wonderful features. "Miss Lucy, you'll forgive me, but I did not know that Abram Van Helsing had a niece."
She blushed again. "He is not really my uncle, but he raised me after my parents were killed. I was a very small child; I don't recall them at all."
"Ah-ha!" he exclaimed. "Yes, I believe he may have mentioned you in some correspondence to…to my father." She wondered at his faltering for a moment, but it was obvious that English was not his first language. Lucy knew only too well how hard it was to learn another. After nearly fifteen years of intense study, her German was passable at best. "And here he comes now! Abram, my old friend, it has been too long."
Lucy spun around to see her uncle coming down the stairs. He had the most curious expression on his face: there was recognition, and a small amount of pleasure, but mostly surprise and wariness. "Dracula. It has been many years. I had asked you not to contact me again." She was shocked at her uncle's harsh words.
"Forgive me," he replied with an apologetic bow. "Believe me, I would not have done so if there had been any other way. I must speak with you immediately."
There was a long moment as the two men stared at each other, but finally Abram said, "Very well. Come in, Dracula. We can meet in the parlor."
"Shall I bring in the brandy, Uncle?" Lucy asked immediately. She wanted to hear more from this strange man, and why he needed to meet so urgently with Abram Van Helsing.
"No thank you, my dear. I don't believe we will take brandy tonight," he told her firmly.
"Coffee, then?" she offered, undaunted. She wasn't sure, but she thought she heard Vladimir give a small laugh.
"No, Lucy. You may retire for the evening." His tone left no room for argument.
His refusal only irritated her. "I am seventeen years old, Uncle! I shall not be sent to bed like a misbehaving child!"
"When you begin to behave as an adult, you shall be treated as one."
Her cheeks flushed with shame. What must Vladimir think of her? To put on such a spectacle in front of company! It was most improper. "I apologize. Good night, Uncle," she said dejectedly. "Good night, Count Dracula. It was a pleasure to meet you."
"A pleasure for me as well, Miss Lucy. Good night." Lucy nodded politely, and turned for the stairs. There was no disapproval in his voice, which both surprised and delighted her. She headed into her bedchamber, changed into her nightgown, and laid down on the bed. Sleep, she knew, would not come for some time. She was far too restless. She wondered what Vladimir and her uncle were discussing. Her curiosity grew until she could not stand it any longer. Softly, carefully, she crept down the stairs. Feeling extremely foolish, she knelt by the door and listened.
Their voices were too muffled to make anything out, but Abram's voice was louder and sounded angry. She leaned closer and closer until her head banged loudly into the doorway. "Ow!" she cried softly.
The voices stopped abruptly, and Lucy froze. She heard her uncle's voice, then Vladimir's. She got up to leave, but heard the click of the door opening behind her. Horrified, there was a brief moment of relief as she saw Vladimir's face. Relief quickly turned to embarrassment. But Vladimir nodded slightly, with an understanding smile, and handed her a note. "There is nothing here, Abram. Perhaps your house is old, yes? If these walls could talk, what stories they would share!" And the door closed again.
Confused, Lucy opened the folded piece of paper and read the note. The unfamiliar, spidery writing was obviously Vladimir's:
Meet me in the garden tonight at midnight. I will explain everything to you then.