There had not been a wreck on the shores of Whitby for nearly eighty years and this brought out the townspeople in full force as soon as light began to break over the sea. During the night the storm waned and morning revealed a ship lodged against the rocks. Wreckage was strewn for miles and when Lucy ventured out she saw netting and horse-drawn carts preparing to be of use, held in the hands of formidable workers and townspeople. It was windy and as she stood on the cliffs overhead, her hair rippled around her magnificent features. Hugging her shawl closer, Lucy returned to the house, blissfully quiet in the early hours. The mental patients had calmed and were either still asleep or going about their normal activities, carefully chaperoned by their handlers. The door to the morning room was open and she entered, finding breakfast on the sideboard. She smelled the fragrant food, her stomach rumbling as she remembered how little she had eaten the night before. She lowered the tongs as her father came in, squinting behind his round spectacles.
"Good morning," he said, heading straight for the sideboard. His love of good food was more than evident in the plumpness of his figure, and now that her mother was gone there was no one to chastise his eating habits. Lucy stood back as he loaded his plate with scrambled eggs, hash browns, and bacon, glancing out the windows toward the movement on the beach below.
"Do you suppose the Count is all right?" she inquired, disconcerted by the memories of his ashen countenance. He had astonishing eyes. She remembered them well, glittering eerily in the lantern light.
Dr. Seward looked at her, as if not quite certain of whom she spoke, then remembered their excitement when they had come in out of the storm. He had scolded them harshly and been curious about the report from the caves, fascinated to know there was only one survivor. Sliding his plate onto the table, he tucked a napkin at his throat and sat down. "I'm sure I would have been sent for if anything was amiss. He lived through a storm that killed all his companions, or so it seems. He must have a strong constitution indeed!"
"Yes," murmured Lucy, parting the draperies and peering at the shoreline. Her fingers tightened until she realized she was wrinkling her mother's priceless European lace and relinquished her hold. Her father encouraged her to come and eat, and it was not long before Mina appeared, color in her cheeks and excitement in her eyes. It was rare she was so happy, and Lucy was glad to see her spirits high as she sat down at the table. Mina was used to being waited on and as her friend filled a plate for her, asked, "May we go down to the beach this morning?"
"I don't—" Lucy began, but her father intervened sharply, "Absolutely not. The riffraff of the town will be down there cleaning up the wreckage. It's not safe." He saw her face fall and with more gentleness added, "You may go down this afternoon when the worst of it has been carted away, if it pleases you."
The slightest hint of irritation came into Mina's eyes, turning them a color Lucy had never seen before, and she picked at her food, mostly interested in inquiring as to what they thought had happened. When Dr. Seward left them to gather his things and accompany the constable that came to fetch him down to the beach, Lucy glanced across the table and said, "Your interest in the wreck wouldn't have anything to do with its only survivor, would it?"
Lowering her eyes modestly and blushing to the roots of her hair as she pushed the food around her plate with her fork, Mina replied, "You cannot tell me you do not understand why." Warmth crept into her delicate features. She looked like a china doll in her prim white and blue garment. Lucy had never seen Mina take to anyone like she had the Count, and it made the events of the previous evening and her own feelings for him feel shameful. Mina had so few pleasures in life that she deserved this one, and Lucy would do nothing to take it away from her. Hearing her father's voice in the hall, Lucy rose from the table and went after him.
"Father," she said as he pulled on his coat, "inquire as to how our new neighbor is doing and invite him to dinner. We cannot allow his introduction to our fair shores to be in the form of a ship lost in a storm." She turned out her father's collar and his face beamed at the notion, for the entire town would be curious about the newcomer. To be the first to invite him for an evening's entertainment would be an indication of status and like his daughter he was curious about the man who had arrived in the midst of howling wind and thrashing rain. Promising to do so, Dr. Seward clamped on his hat and went out to the waiting cart.
Lucy had no more than closed the front door behind him before Mina ran to her, clasping her friend's hands in hers. "Oh, Lucy, you are too good to me!" she cried, excitement running through her with such force it caused her to tremble. "Do you think he truly will come?"
"There is no reason he wouldn't," Lucy assured her. She felt a twinge of conscience, wondering if she had truly done it out of sisterly love for Mina or if she wanted another opportunity to be caught up in the midst of those eyes.
Whitby was not one of Jonathan Harker's favorite places, as it was a good deal quieter than London and life moved at a far more languid pace than he liked. He had been with Snodgrass, Shilling, & Wollop for two years, working first among their clerks and slowly moving into a position of authority. It pleased him to be entrusted with such an important client as Count Dracula, whose foreign nature promised esteem among his colleagues. They had glowing reports of him from their abroad solicitor, who praised the Count with all the adoration of a schoolboy in awe of a legendary discoverer. Jonathan thought as he drove along the coast that it was strange the solicitor had vanished since, but then they knew nothing of his personal life. He did not hear of the shipwreck until reaching the hotel in town, where with a sinking heart he listened to the details of the storm. For one ghastly moment, Jonathan feared the Count was dead but salvation came in the news of a single survivor, a foreigner delivered to Carfax Abbey in the late hours. Jonathan threw himself into the car and drove to the coast, knowing he would be wanted at the wreck to assist in the identification of the Count's belongings.
Rubbing exhaustion from his eyes, Jonathan turned down the road to the beach. The masses attempting to clear the wreckage moved out of his way as he honked at them, the automobile granting a feeble and irritating bleep as it spit up sand beneath the turning wheels. Fragments of conversation drifted to him on the wind.
"That's it, a bit more… come on, you two, get your hands out of your pockets!"
"No, no, no. Tell them women to get out of the way if they're not helping!"
A crusty old man giving orders stepped aside as Jonathan approached, drawing the attention of several young ladies standing on the sidelines; there was nothing more exciting to gawk at than the remnants of a once-proud vessel half-buried in the sand, the waves crashing against her hull and carnage spread across the deck. Jonathan strode up the makeshift gangplank and an officer stepped in his path, attending to his job as the local inspector had told him to. "Sorry," he barked, "no one allowed on board." He viewed the tallish man before him expressionlessly, finding him rather plain in appearance and lacking a certain sobriety that would have suited such a grim situation.
"I've got business on board." Jonathan could see shapes moving about on deck, passing to and fro with boxes and covered stretchers, no doubt bearing the bodies of the lost onto the beach. Or at least, what remained of them, for there was a good deal of blood spattered across the mast.
"What sort of business?"
Straightening up, Jonathan said importantly, "I'm a solicitor, Jonathan Harker, and I've been on the road all night from London. My client was on this ship. You must let me pass!"
His frustration was witnessed by the portly form of his future father-in-law, who made his way across the deck toward them. He told the policeman it was all right and the man let him pass reluctantly, keeping an eye on him as he stepped onto the solid wooden planking and looked about. The remains were ghastly and he could not imagine the horrors suffered by the crew as they faced a devastating storm. It had swept up the channel and fallen upon the southern coast, sending gusts of wind and rain as far as London.
"What the devil are you doing here?" Dr. Seward demanded, surprised to see Jonathan again so soon. He was not expected for another fortnight and the physician felt a twinge of conscience at wishing he would go away again, for as happy as he was that his daughter was to be married, he could not help wanting her to remain at home for a bit longer. None of his inner turmoil surfaced in his voice.
Preoccupied enough not to notice the inferred insult, Jonathan answered, "Our firm was telegraphed yesterday that the ship had been sighted a week early. The man we represented in the purchase of Carfax Abbey, Count Dracula…"
The good doctor cried out, "Count Dracula, of course! How stupid of me, I almost forgot!" Seward had seen many things over the years, from murderous intentions to the revolting accidents, from death and destruction to loss of limb, but nothing had prepared him for this. It was so ghastly he was fascinated as much as repulsed by the sheer horror of it, and had quite mislaid his daughter's request.
"Is he safe?"
Seward looked at his companion blankly, attempting to remember the topic of conversation. "In all this confusion, I—who?"
Revealing a hint of his bad temper, Jonathan snapped, "Dracula!" He was mostly fond of the doctor but there were times the older man trod heavily on his nerves. It was not so much dislike as irritation, for they were a breed apart. One was dedicated to his sanitarium, and the other had higher ambitions.
"Oh, yes; he's the only one who is," Seward said, catching on with a slight flush in his pudgy features. "Young Mina found him on the beach last night and we took him to Carfax. As for the rest of the crew…"
No words could describe it and instead of attempting to, the doctor indicated the sailor lashed to the helm. His throat was torn open, a dreadful look of sheer terror on his distorted features. Clasped in his hand was a silver crucifix swinging slightly in the breeze. Jonathan felt his lungs constrict and nearly tasted his breakfast again. "Good God," he uttered, so low the others did not catch it. "What happened?" It reminded him of a serial novel, a penny dreadful he would have relished as a child, but when confronted with it in real life, he found it ghastly.
"We don't know. Maybe the ship's log will tell us."
What few boxes remained in the hold was being unloaded and most of them were stamped with the insignia he had seen on the Count's paperwork. He strode forward to inspect them. The harbormaster viewed him with suspicion, for it was not often an attorney was called in to handle such matters. "Excuse me," Jonathan said, interrupting his work, "but is all this cargo the Count's?"
Ten boxes were piled in the sand, with more being brought up. The harbormaster glanced over the side, then at Jonathan. "There's more down below, but the rest of the crates broke up on them rocks. It seems to be some kind o' dirt." He stressed the last word, hoping the solicitor would have an explanation, but Jonathan was as perplexed as he was. The Count had said nothing of transporting earth and he could not fathom the reason.
"Dirt," he repeated, "what for?"
From behind them came a voice, mediocre in its self-importance but memorable since it was one Jonathan had heard numerous times over the years. Renfield, ever protective of his newfound position as a servant for the Count, said, "Whatever it is, I'll take it and put it on me wagon." He gestured toward the horse and cart waiting below, the beast's tail flickering in boredom as it watched people scavenge among the debris. He and Jonathan looked at one another in disgust, the latter accustomed to being spit at whenever they met and the former attempting to repress the instinct to accommodate him. Fortunately, the harbormaster stood between them and took his job too seriously to allow someone to make off with the Count's property. He was not about to release them into the hands of a measly little runt who had on numerous occasions shouted obscenities at him.
"You can't do that, Renfield. The Count's not here to sign for them and they stay here until he comes around himself."
As much as he liked to see Renfield put in his place, Jonathan knew he was just as responsible as his adversary to see the Count appeased. The firm would not approve if Dracula was prevented from claiming his lawful property, however peculiar the contents. "I'm sorry, Harbormaster, but the rights of this ship are completely sacrificed since the tiller of this vessel is held in a dead hand."
Bushy eyebrows lifted and the harbormaster glared at him. Jonathan shrugged and wearily asked, "Where's the rest of Dracula's baggage? I'd like to inspect that as well."
Before he could follow the man below, a grubby hand caught his collar, forcing him to look down into Renfield's resentful face. "Harker, you sold me house right out from under me, and you sold that poor old count a right bill of goods with your fancy silver tongue! I've half a mind to tell Dracula he's been took good!"
Renfield's hand was ripped away from Jonathan's collar as the solicitor removed it and stepped nearer to him threateningly. He was hoping for a fight, and Jonathan was on the verge of giving it to him. He'd had enough of the man's insults and was not about to back down. Dr. Seward leapt at the brief silence and interrupted, "Mr. Renfield, I wonder if I could impose upon you to ask the Count when he rises if he would join us for dinner tonight at Billabeck Hall?"
The distraction worked, for the man turned his head toward the doctor, a sneering expression on his face. "What, at the loony bin?" Renfield could not fathom his new master in such a place, not the tall, gracious Count who treated him with such respect, whose nimble form would have been more at home in a silver palace than the broken-down ruin of Carfax. He wanted to laugh at the mere thought of it.
Insulted, Dr. Seward stressed, "At my home, Mr. Renfield!" He was relieved that Jonathan had slipped away with the harbormaster, no doubt to nurse his wounds.
Unfettered by the fact that he had not endeared himself to the physician, Renfield said doubtfully, "Well, I'll give him the message, but I don't think he'll be in the mood for any fancy socializing." Glaring in the direction of the hold Renfield dropped to the sand and shouted for the men to help him load the crates into his cart. They trudged forward willingly, curious as to the contents of the boxes. Only five had survived the storm intact and the rest were broken up in the hold, the rich black soil spilling out into the salt that coated the deck's smooth interior, mingling with dark stains of blood.
"I have never seen anything like it," one of the men said as he stared at the mangled remains of the ship. Dr. Seward was seeing to the removal of the last of the bodies, dismembered beyond reason. No storm had torn out their throats like that yet there was no indication there had been any wild animals on board. Renfield pulled a face as he gazed at the battered bodies being loaded into the lorry cart. Their gruesome expressions were covered by white sheets as the doctor lingered in the background, looking slightly nauseated. He had mixed feelings about the ship, for it had a haze over it, a disturbing aura that made his stomach constrict with fear. He looked into the waves pulling at the shoals on the beach and turned his thoughts elsewhere.