PART TWO: THE CRIMSON LADY
Chapter Six:
Confrontations And Explanations
March 1903
As she finished Doctor Watson's account, the scrapbook slipped from Rosie's slack hands – and fell onto the carpet. Startled by the noise, she came to and rubbed her eyes, reeling at everything she had learned.
So that was how Watson had learned the hard way the truth about Mary Watson's real fate, she thought to herself.
But what had happened afterwards…?
How did the Watsons - and Sherlock Holmes - adjust to the fact that not only were the undead a reality, but that Mary Watson had inadvertently been forced to join their ranks?
Rosie helped herself to some water from the jug left for her – then she carefully picked up the scrapbook again and looked at the note at the end of Watson's account. It indicated that Mary's journal would continue the story of what happened that night. So, turning to the next pages in the scrapbook - those that were written in Mary's elegant handwriting, the former Baker Street Irregular thought again of Shiner's precarious condition and said a quick prayer for him, before she pressed on into Mary's journal…
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
The journal of Mary Watson:
Friday 20 April 1894
"Guilty as charged…," I sadly replied, in response to John's frightened outburst. I felt sorry for him. I glanced at Mister Holmes and the unknown maid with them who had donned a red robe – even though I had not seen her before. There was no surprise on either of their faces. "Didn't Sherlock tell you what he already knew, John?"
"What I suspected, Mrs Watson. No, I did not," Sherlock explained, in his familiar, sharp, nasal voice. "Your husband was more sceptical that I was, in adjusting to the notion that we were dealing with…the undead. And so, I felt it best for us both to find you, together. I am sorry, on my part, friend Watson." Then his tone turned business-like once more. "We must leave this place immediately. We can confer fully when we are all in a place of refuge."
"The Swales will be close by. But if we can commandeer Klein's coach and horses…," the ginger-headed maid spoke up.
"Capital! Then let's see if we can do just that," Sherlock declared, getting up.
"You do not act with the bearing of a maid. And you are no red robe," I pointed out to the stranger. "Who are you?"
"You have read all my stories, Mary… If you really are Mary, perhaps you can deduce our ally's identity," John said to me.
"Excellent, Watson," Sherlock muttered, his lips twitching upwards.
"A test… Well, neither of you gentlemen have used her name in this chamber…," I mused, rubbing my chin. "You do not strike me as being a former client of Mr Holmes. And he would not work this way with a lady unless he had to, and unless he had high regard for her…" My eyes widened. "Irene Adler?" I gasped.
The woman smiled and dipped her head. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs Watson."
I turned to John and reached out to help him up. "Come on, John!" I urged him.
But, to my chagrin, he stared at me in horror – his eyes darting to the dead body of Grimes. The wretched abuser of the children, and myself. "You…really are Mary… But…are we safe…from you?" he asked me. Not unreasonably.
I took a deep breath and spoke as I slowly exhaled. This was now my new habit – one that I had to learn, in order to talk, ever since Klein overpowered me in the graveyard where I had been buried. Where she taught me one of the first lessons in how to adjust to being…a vampire.
Breathing was now no longer something my body did without my thinking about it. I had to conscientiously take a breath and release it, so that my vocal cords could work properly. My first attempt to speak, in the graveyard, had made me panic when I realised that I could not speak of my own accord.
"I will not hurt you or the children, John," I promised him. "Mr Grimes was…a most adequate meal."
"A…meal? He was a man, Mary! And you…murdered…" My husband trailed off.
"I killed him," I sighed. "I had to. If I had not, he would've killed you or Sherlock. I can't help the fact that I was being starved, John! Please… Trust me."
I looked into his eyes, and – silently – I projected a little of my vampire glamour at him, in order to calm him down. Within moments, John took my hand. Now that I had…fed…well, I was able to pull him up with ease.
We then heard footsteps pounding along the floor above us, reminding us of the need to press on.
"Steve Dixie, I would say. Unless there are other staff still here who are not vampires," Holmes pondered. "Someone who can get round the garlic and holy water I left behind."
"The white robes. They are mortal prostitutes, under Klein's grooming," Adler informed us.
Holmes nodded. "Thank you for that information, Mrs Norton. I will stand guard at this end of the staircase, but hidden. Watson – you see to the horses to take us away from this cesspit of a house. Considering the size of our party, the coach would serve us best."
"Right away, Holmes," John replied. And then he was off, hurrying out of the chamber towards where the horses where. I could smell them, now that I was at full strength for the first time since being held as a prisoner in this dreadful room.
I slowly walked towards the boy, holding out my hand. "I won't hurt you, now, Olly. I'll help to take you away from here," I said to him, softly.
Adler stepped in between me and Olive. "Stay away from this girl! She is…experiencing a lady's issue," she hissed to me.
I nodded. "I know! And that is why I am entrusting you to handle Olive, Mrs Norton. You can trust me with Ollie. I…was…a governess."
She paused, and then gave me a sharp nod. "Very well… But call me Irene Adler – since that is my name again, once more. Now, let us hurry out of here, children!"
And so the four of us ran out of that hated prison chamber and into the stables, with all its strong scents – strong to me, at least. On the way there, we spied a mortal man lying at the bottom of the staircase, out cold from a hefty punch that Sherlock had evidently just given him.
John halted and stared at the man's broken face in shock. "John Clay! The would-be bank robber we have met. What is he doing here?"
"The scoundrel was sprung from prison during my absence from this country, Watson. I believe Sebastian Moran arranged it," Sherlock announced drily. "His presence here indicates that Klein was indeed linked to Professor Moriarty's network of crime. But we have no time to carry Clay along with us. We must make haste!"
Between John and Sherlock, a pair of horses were soon tied to the coach that awaited us. I heard Sherlock point out something to John about the black horse with white markings around its ear, confirming it was the one of the coach horses that was seen outside of the graveyard where I had been buried – and I added my testimony that I had been brought to Cherry Tree House in this same coach. Now, it would be my means of escaping the house. I smiled at the thought.
Between Miss Adler and I, we got the children into the carriage. I then helped John to unbar the stable doors and swing them open. Then, with Adler keeping Olive and Ollie company inside the carriage, I hurriedly joined John in climbing up besides Mr Holmes, taking the outermost seat, as Sherlock cracked the whip in the air, and the horses immediately set off, turning onto the back lane that ran to the rear to Cherry Tree House.
But as we did so, several figures ran out from the stables after us. John and I looked back to see a couple of the white robes screaming.
"Turquoise! Don't leave us! The Mistress orders you to stay!" the young mortal women cried out to me, as they ran. They tried to race after the coach – but they weren't as fast as a pair of horses at brisk pace. Neither were the pair of mortal men – beguiled regular mortal clients of the house – who had joined them. Another man present with them, huffing as he failed to stop the coach, was the black-skinned lackey of Madam Obsidian, Steve Dixie.
I felt a pang of regret. One of the white robes – a young auburn-haired lady I knew as Amy – had been kind to me. And I to her. Now I could no longer be present for her…
But of course, Madam Obsidian herself was now striding out of the stables. She gave a scream of anger. Then, within seconds, her form dissolved into mist. Moments later, a large bat formed out of the vapour and starting flapping its wings, giving chase after us.
I gasped and seized John's wrist.
"Mary! You are crushing me…!"
"So-sorry…" Realising that I needed to adjust to my unnatural strength, I let my husband's hand go.
"Holmes! Klein's changed into a bat! She's on our trail!" John yelled a warning to Sherlock.
"I have really underestimated the nature of that woman…," he muttered, before pushing the horses further. "Adler told us that the Swales would aid us. Where are they?" his sharp voice rang out.
"Where are we headed?" I asked him, keeping one eye on the reddish-furred bat that was flying high above us, sticking to our tail, as Holmes turned onto another road. There was hardly anyone – or anything on this street, and so Holmes urged the horses to go faster.
The bat gave an unnerving shriek, which spooked the poor horses even more. They soon broke out into a gallop. We rounded a corner so quickly that one of the wheels briefly lifted – making the children cry out – before it made contact with the ground once again. John managed to grab hold of me, before I could slip from my seat.
"In reply to your question, Mrs Watson, any place where we can lose our unnatural pursuer!" the great detective fired back at me. "Klein will know where she can find me and Watson…"
"…so we need to hide Mary and the others somewhere else for now?" John reasoned.
"Quite so! Now where should I drive…? Ah, an estate of factories. Capital!" Sherlock spoke his thoughts aloud, as he directed the horses along a side road and onwards to the factory now ahead of us. I spied the chimneys and the plumps of smoke and steam vents.
"You hope that she will lose us amongst the exhausts from the factories!" I smiled.
Holmes grinned back as we drove past the first factory. "It is a long shot, Mrs Watson – but we can hope…"
"Watch out!" John cried. I spun round in my seat, to see the reddish bat sweep in low in a wide, descending arc at an angle to us, heading straight for Sherlock Holmes. I spied her exposed fangs – then I stood up and swatted at it at the last possible moment, the fingernails on my outstretched hand having formed themselves into talons without my thinking about it. I just managed to scratch the bat's wing in the process – deflecting its flight. The impact jolted me – but John was quick to grab hold of me and prevent me from falling.
The bat crashed into a factory wall and tumbled upon the pavement below in an undignified heap, as Sherlock tried to control the panicking horses and the swaying coach. After slowing down, he managed to press the poor beasts on, and so we rode on along the narrow street.
But at the next junction, Sherlock unfortunately took the wrong turning and led us into a dead end. And by the time, the panting horses were pulled up and slowly turned around, all three of us at the front of the coach could see the huge bat banking in the air at the junction. The horses whined and refused to move forward, as they fidgeted - their hooves stamping the ground repeatedly.
With a piercing cry of what struck me as a note of inhuman laughter, the bat turned towards us and began to swope in again. The eyes glowed red in the light of the streetlamp, as she bared her fangs once more, ready to sink them into the throat of Sherlock Holmes…
Suddenly another pair of bats dived out of the sky, screeching. One of them crashed into the vampire bat that was Klein – and the two of them tumbled in mid-air, in a tussle and tangle of bristling fur and wings. The reddish bat managed to break free and soar again, high above our raised heads – but then the second interceptor engaged her in a deadly, aerial dance. Soon, the pair locked wings and fell onto the roof of the factory besides us, making an audible 'clang' on the metal.
"Dear Lord!" John gasped. He then swept his head back down to street level and scrunched up his face. "Where's the other bat…?"
"It fell into the street we left, out of sight," I pointed out.
And at that moment, a woman – wearing a green dress and a black travelling cloak with its hood covering her head – hurried out of the mentioned street and turned at the junction, facing us.
I sighed my relief. It was not Isadora Klein or one of her vipers. But why was she here?
Oh. Of course…, I reasoned to myself.
"Mrs Swales!" John cried out.
"Doctor Watson!" the lady – roughly the same age as I – called back as she ran over to us. She sighted me – and her smile widened.
"I will guide you to safety. Let me drive the horses!" she told Sherlock.
He nodded. "Mrs Watson – perhaps you could join the others inside the coach? We are short of space up here…"
I stiffened, realising that something was wrong. "Mr Holmes… She is…!"
He shot me a look. "Thank you for confirming what I had suspected, Mrs Watson. Nevertheless, your husband trusts her."
Mrs Swales looked annoyed. "We must hurry!"
Huffing, I allowed the latest addition to our party to help me down from the front of the coach. Then with her in my place – and with Adler pulling me inside the coach interior, Mr Holmes managed to get the horses running again.
The children still looked worried, but I noticed that there was hope in their innocent eyes. "Are we safe now, Mrs Watson?" Olive asked me with some trepidation.
I nodded. "I think so, Olive." Then, raising my eyes to Adler, I gave her a meaningful look – which she caught and correctly interpreted.
The other woman stroked the faces of Olive and Olly. "When we can, we will pass you over to the police – and we will make sure that you are returned to your family," she reassured them. Adler then returned her gaze to me.
"Can you help them to sleep? I understand that some of your kind can," she requested of me.
"I am…still finding out what powers I have. But I was able to beguile John and send him back to sleep, that night I…visited him," I confessed. "I will try." Then, calling up my experience as a governess, as well as my budding hypnotic abilities, I turned to Olly, who was sat next to me, and sang him a lullaby from my youth as I gently rubbed his forehead and face. His fear lessened and he gradually became drowsy, as he looked into my eyes. I repeated the exercise on Olive as Adler got her to sit on the other side of me.
Despite her unease with being close to a vampire whilst on her monthly, Olive too had her anxiety overridden by my singing voice, my loving touch, and my hypnotic gaze. Before long, I had two sleeping children slumped on either side of me. I smiled at my small measure of success.
"Well done," Adler nodded. "Best that the children do not see where we are going, in case the police question them. No one but us should know where the Swales have their sanctuary. Although I have been there, I myself do not know its location on a map. For safety, you see…"
"…in case Klein and her cronies discovered that you were a spy, and captured you," I concluded.
Adler nodded, and the coach fell silent as Mrs Swales turned the coach at the latest junction. Adler pulled down the blinds on either side of the coach, so that neither of us could see whereabouts in London we now were.
With nothing else to do for the time being, I made myself as comfortable as possible and closed my eyes, in an effort to make myself relax. For the first time in a long while…
Minutes later, the horses slowed down to a steady clomp, making another turn. Eventually, we came to a stop.
Adler opened one of the doors and helped me down. We were in a dark, enclosed space – beyond which I could see a courtyard with stables, under the moonlight where the roof ended. Turning round, I saw a pair of youths emerge from the side entrance of the house we were next to. They swung the yard gates to and locked them, before turning to us.
"Hello again, Shiner. And Beaver," John greeted him.
Startled, the young men spun round. Then they tugged at their caps, grinning at all of us. They were soon joined by another pair of young adults. A clean-shaven Indian youth, and a small, black-skinned lady. All four of them were dressed as if they were stable hands.
It was a relief to see Beaver and Shiner once again. The last time I had seen any of the Baker Street Irregulars, it had been shortly after I had consoled them, after they had heard the news of Mr Holmes' 'death'. They had been heartbroken…
"Welcome, Dr Watson, Mr 'Olmes. And the ladies too, o'course. Don't mind us. We need to look after the horses," Beaver called out.
"This here is Ravindra," Shiner gestured to the Indian youth, who smiled and gave us a little bow. "Please excuse him. He is mute."
"And I am Leonie," the black girl said shyly to us, curtseying, before she moved forward to join her fellow servants in seeing to the horses.
"Shiner and I call her 'mouse girl'. She likes to hide from us. Especially when we've got a big job to pass onto her," Beaver spoke up, grinning.
Leonie impishly stuck out her tongue at Beaver.
"Manners… You are not exactly children anymore," Mrs Swales chided them mildly, with a faint smile.
"Sorry, Miss," the girl replied.
"Sorry, milady." Beaver was still smirking.
I stole a glance at Sherlock. He was naturally taking in everything with interest. He also looked…pensive…as he glanced at me and John.
He was worried how my return from the dead would impact my husband, I guessed. And, I ventured, how it would affect his working relationship and friendship with John.
"How long have you been here, Beaver?" Sherlock asked the former Baker Street Irregular.
"He's been in our employ for a few months, Mr Holmes – as has the young man you know as Shiner. Ravindra and Leonie for somewhat longer," Mrs Swales interrupted, as she walked over to the unlocked side door to the house, opened it, and stepped inside.
"The children… We've left them sleeping inside the coach, Mistr… I mean, Mrs Swales," Adler spoke up. "But I should take the girl to the bathroom. Her menses…were not attended to."
The other woman gasped. "Those…animals. Very well, Irene. Do what you must. Take Leonie with you. And then the freed girl should be returned to the coach. We will talk about the children later. Keep watch over the young ones, as you go about your duties here, Ravindra, Beaver, Shiner."
"Of course, mam! We will," Shiner replied for his company.
Adler and Leonie nodded, and quickly headed into the house – carrying the sleeping Olive between them.
"You have a fine collection of interesting servants, madam," Sherlock remarked.
Mrs Swales nodded back "All of them are orphans. Though perhaps Leonie's father is still alive. I understand that he was a sailor from Africa, who left Leonie's mother pregnant by the time he headed back to sea…" She paused. "Just another sad story amongst millions in this city. Anyway… The rest of you – please follow me," our host instructed us.
John took my hand and stepped through the doorway. But then I stiffened, feeling that some invisible barrier had abruptly sprung up to bar me. Try as he did, John was unable to pull me through.
"I… I can't move!" I panicked.
Mrs Swales spun round and pressed her gloved hand to her eyes and forehead. She seemed…embarrassed.
"My apologies, Mrs Watson… I forgot… You are formally invited into my home," she declared.
And in an instant, the unseen barrier vanished. Gasping from the shock, I gathered my wits and stepped over the threshold, finding myself in a kitchen. Sherlock followed me.
We were led to a tasteful-looking dining room, where we sat. Our host offered drinks to the men – and John requested a brandy. I could not blame him, in the circumstances.
Sherlock declined a drink.
"You are aware of Mrs Watson's…dietary needs, no doubt," he put to Mrs Swales.
She flinched and looked intently at him, before replying, "Yes, I am. Do you need anything, Mrs Watson?"
"You could say that I have already had a stiff drink tonight…," I muttered with a muster of a smile. "But I too could do with a brandy. A small one."
John raised an eyebrow at me. Nevertheless, Mrs Swales reached into the drinks cabinet and filled our glasses. Then she addressed us.
"Please rest here, whilst I converse with Miss Adler upstairs…"
"I would prefer that you stay here, Mrs Swales," Sherlock spoke up. "You have been keeping secrets from Watson, whilst directing us to effectively raid Cherry Tree House. We have done this, resulting in the successful outcome that we all desired – and I would prefer that there is now transparency and complete honesty all round. We can wait for your husband to arrive, before we begin – or we can start this very moment, Mrs Harker…"
There was a hiss of anger from our host – and she raised her hands in the air, fingers curled and spread apart, as if to claw him. Instinctively, I shot to my feet and did the same – mirroring her stance, wanting to shield John from any harm. To defend Sherlock Holmes too. My relationship with him could be best described as neutral, or cordial. But he had aided John in my rescue. I was now even more indebted to him than during the case that John had written up as 'The Sign of Four'.
John stood up beside me, a look of bewilderment on his face. Then I saw understanding dawn in his eyes as he compared me to 'Mrs Swales'. Our similar instinctive postures as we readied ourselves for a possible fight. The pale skins of our faces…
"Oh, dear god!" he groaned. He placed his hand on my shoulder. "Perhaps we should sit down and listen, Mary…"
"She is a vampire, John. Like I am. Just like Klein and the other women who held me prisoner," the predator in me growled. It was something I would never have done, when I had been…mortal. "I did not escape, just to become a prisoner of yet another of my new kind!"
"We will not do that to you, Mary Watson," 'Mrs Swales' declared. "You can leave whenever you wish – but I assure you that you will be safe here. Whereas Madam Klein and her associates will seek you out if you return to your home – or relocate to Mr Holmes' lodgings." She lowered her clawed hand – and, thanks to John, I calmed down enough to sit myself once more. Then I grimaced as I looked down and thought about the dried blood stains on my clothes.
"Would you prefer to wash and change clothes, Mrs Watson? I am sure that I can find you something suitable, amongst what we have here…"
"Thank you. But it can wait…" I began to reply.
I was interrupted by a noise. It was as if a bird was coming down one of the chimneys to the house.
Before our host could stop him, Holmes had got up and dashed out of the room to investigate. Sighing, the lady of the house followed him. And so, I went after her. Leaving John to trail in my wake as we headed into the corridor.
In the next room along – an unlocked study – from the opened doorway we all watched a brown-furred bat emerge from the unlit fireplace. The same, brown-furred creature that had been one of the two bats that had fought the Klein-bat during the chase. Evidently, it had not seen us – for already it was dissolving into a dense mist, before reshaping itself into the form of a man wearing a dark suit and trousers, and matching shoes. Despite looking relatively young, his hair was white.
Then the man sniffed the air. Startled, he turned his head around and straightened himself up from his crouched position. He looked angry, and he glanced at Mrs Swales.
Intuitively, I realised that this man was her husband.
"Mr Holmes has already worked what we are. As well as who we are, dear," she told him.
"I see…," Mr Swales turned to Sherlock. "You are truly as perceptive as Doctor Watson has portrayed you to be, Mr Holmes. We had hoped that you would have dismissed the notion of vampires – at least to start with," he began. "Hopefully, you can all judge us by our characters and actions, rather than our…natures."
Sherlock nodded. "I suspect that Miss Adler already knows the truth about her employers. I trust that you were not followed back home, Mr Harker?"
"I am certain of that. However, Miss Klein is not destroyed. Just wounded in our fight. The intention tonight was not to kill her – but to free Mrs Watson, which you have all done so, admirably. Once we know the full picture of what goes on in Cherry Tree House, my wife and I will decide what should be done about that woman and her associates."
"What is she to you?" I asked, stepping forward.
"She is a cancer to the government, Mrs Watson. She and her associates are pulling a small, but growing, number of the right honourable men of parliament into a web of addiction and blackmail. Addiction to the bites of the vampire prostitutes that they…couple with," 'Mrs Swales' answered. "Whatever you think of us, Jonathan and I still feel a sense of…duty…towards our country. We wish to protect the establishment from any of our kind. But we have to be careful in doing so. We could not enter Cherry Tree House ourselves."
"Because, as vampires, you cannot enter someone else's property without being invited by them – as we have seen with Mrs Watson's struggle to enter this very house," Sherlock reasoned. "It is a superstition that seems to have originated around witches – but evidently, for whatever reason, it applies to vampires. And would I be right in thinking that Mrs Harker's psychic powers are gifts of her undead nature? Furthermore, that you believed if either of you drew too near to Cherry Tree House, Klein and her associates would have been alerted to your presence and nature by their own psychic powers?"
Mrs Harker nodded. "Exactly. And they sensed me when I approached the house, along with Doctor Watson."
"And when you met me, it occurred to you both to use me and Holmes as your hounds – along with Irene Adler as your agent – to free Mary," John spoke up. "So what happens now? Can we trust you, after you hid your true nature – and the truth about Mary - from me!?"
"You were not ready to believe in vampires, Doctor Watson. And we hide our true nature from almost everybody, out of our need to be safe. To survive. Would you have taken us seriously, if we had told you of our suspicions that Mrs Watson had not been the victim of body snatchers – but that she had broken out of her coffin, as a newly-made vampire?" Mr Harker countered.
This statement made John pause. He trembled as he thought through the implications. "Then…the tramp. Oh, god… Mary. You didn't…?"
I hung my head in shame. "I am sorry, dear. Yes. I killed that poor man. I had smashed my way out of my own coffin, in a state of bewilderment and terror. I could not speak. Breathing was no longer natural to me. I was parched dry. I was trying to find someone to help me – but then my predatory instincts kicked in. I could hear that tramp in that shed with my enhanced senses. Then as I drew closer to him, the smell of his blood, the pounding of his heart… I was pulled in like a moth to a flame. Only it was me who was the danger… I was…messy. But I managed to kill him." Trembling, I forced myself to look at John's face. "I regret it – but I can't undo it, John."
"Do not blame your wife, Doctor Watson. She acted as most newly minted vampires do, if there is nobody presented for them to feed upon, when they return from the dead," Mr Harker declared, giving John a sharp look.
My dear husband rubbed his eyes. I wanted to hold him and tell him that everything would now be all right. But I could not. I could not bear the thought of him flinching from my touch. Of him hating me for what I had become – a fate that I had not chosen for myself.
"Let us please all sit down in the dining room," Mrs Harker suggested. "Do you need a drink from the icehouse, Jonathan?"
"Please, Mina."
"And whose blood would that be? Beaver or Shiner's, for example? Or do you store your own victims?" John bristled.
"All four of our younger servants do indeed donate a little of their blood to us, by their permission – but we have a supply of pigs' blood from a local butcher. We try to be as…humane…as possible," Mina Harker answered back, smiling.
Soon, all five of us were in the dining room again. Mr Harker sighed with satisfaction as he downed his mug of chilled pigs' blood. His wife sipped at her own mug of the same beverage.
I was intrigued. Klein and her fellow…snakes…had given no indication that they could consume pigs' blood. I had to find out if animal blood was a realistic alternative for me, to survive upon…
"Perhaps it would be best if Mr Holmes explained how he deduced our identities – and I can then relate our own story," Mr Harker announced.
"That sounds reasonable," Holmes agreed. "I was intrigued by what Watson told me about yourself and your wife, Mr Harker. It was clear that you both had a vested interest in tracking down the supposed 'body snatchers' of Mrs Watson – and the hypnotism used to remove Reginald Musgrave's traumatic memories of the night that Mrs Watson and Mrs Hudson were attacked certainly attracted my attention. Watson was left with the impression that you two had been directed to Sir Reginald by Lestrade – and I checked this out. Imagine my growing intrigue when I discovered, in person, that Lestrade could not remember either of you. More to the point, his memory of anyone asking him about Musgrave was…fuzzy. It was as if he had been hypnotised himself. Like you did with Watson, before leading out of the asylum.
"There were other clues, as well, going on what Watson had told me. The general avoidance of strong sunlight by both of you, the refusal to enter Watson's house when he left the front door open in his wake as he returned there, expecting you to follow…"
"…until I invited them in!" John concluded with a start.
"Exactly, Watson. Also, you had already noted that Mrs Harker here had changed the colour of her hair, from blonde to brunette. That was not much of a clue in itself – but it suggestive to me that 'the Swales' had taken the care to change their appearances at some stage. And, following this thread, that they had also changed their identities. This leads me to the main clue I followed up upon - the surname the couple presented themselves with. Swales."
"I do not follow, Holmes," John confessed.
"That is because you have not done the research that Mycroft and I have, Watson. My brother heard from me the circumstances regarding Mrs Watson's death and later disappearance. His suspicious raised, Mycroft then delved into any news reports or police reports that alluded to vampirism in this country. We soon read about the 'Bloofer lady' that, for a short time' haunted the area a London cemetery, in 1890. Then later, that the body of one Lucy Westernra, in the same cemetery, had been found in her tome, staked and with her mouth stuffed with garlic. There had been a sighting, reported to the police by a local man, that a group of well-dressed men had been seen leaving the cemetery in the middle of the night with black bags – and that they had left with grim expressions.
"Following the trail on Miss Westernra's history, I learnt about her mother's death on the same night as her. And that they had been staying in the Yorkshire port of Whitby a month before their deaths," Sherlock continued. "Furthermore, the local constabulary had learnt of strange events there. The arrival of a ship with the captain tied to the wheel, whilst the rest of the remaining crew were on board, drained of their blood. The sighting of a large dog racing from the ship and roaming the east cliff, and the discovery of a local old man – also dead from having his lifeblood drained from him. A man called Swales."
I saw Mr Harker reach across the table to clasp his wife's shaking hand in his. She managed a teary smile. Only the liquid threatening to weep from her eyes was thin blood.
"Mr Swales was a dear, innocent man, Mr Holmes," she breathed. "He was killed by a monster – the same monster who slaughtered the crew of the Demeter. It was my idea to adopt his surname when Jonathan and I returned to England. My way of honouring poor Mr Swales."
"He was killed by a vampire. The same vampire who infected Lucy Westernra, you childhood friend?" Sherlock pressed her. "A vampire who followed her to London, and eventually killed her and caused the death of Mrs Westernra too?"
Mrs Harker nodded.
"Mycroft and I did further research, following the trail of overlooked evidence provided by the London police and news clippings," Sherlock continued. "We built up a wider picture, learning of the known associates of Lucy Westernra – including her fiancé, Lord Arthur Godalming. Also her childhood friend, Wilhelmina Murray – now Mrs Harker. Both had left the country, along with Mr Harker, American Quincey Morris, Doctor Jack Seward, and the doctor's Dutch academic associate, Professor Abraham Van Helsing. The latter being a known expert on blood diseases. Furthermore, that Mr Jonathan Harker had, during the spring of 1890, travelled to Transylvania on business as a solicitor – only to return to this county as a man whose nerves had been shot. All in all, most intriguing. And, digging deeper, my further research resulted in the discovery of a Count Dracula of Transylvania who Mr Harker had visited in the course of his work. And that one of the properties this Count had acquired, Carfax Abbey, was close to where Doctor Seward worked. In an asylum where a certain Mr Renfield had been incarcerated. And this Renfield had been…"
Mr Harker put up his hand to stop Sherlock "…the solicitor who had been despatched to see to the Count before I had. Very good, Mr Holmes. Yes, my firsthand experience of the Count and his associates nearly drove me mad. As well as making my hair turn white. Dracula was a vampire who wanted to move to London, in order to create a new base of power, in one of the larger cities of Europe. In the heart of the British Empire. Fate brought Lucy's three suitors, and Professor Van Helsing, to join with Mina and myself. And so the six of us became a team of hunters. Our aim – to track down Count Dracula, and stop his plans of spreading his reign of terror."
"We wanted to hunt him down – for what he had done to Lucy, and for the deaths he had caused. We were the hounds chasing the fox after his raid in the hen house – and the chase took us back to his castle in Transylvania," Mina Harker added, her eyes flashing with a glint of blood.
"Then what happened?" I asked.
Mrs Harker told us her story, starting with the 'baptism of blood' that the inhuman Count had forced her into when he violated her temporary bedroom at the asylum at Purfleet. The act had started her slow transformation into a vampire, as well as creating a psychic link between her and the master vampire. As well as punishing the hunters, Dracula had intended to turn Mina into his spy by his vile actions, in case they stayed on his trail – which they all did, even as he fled back to Rumania when his plans for London had been ruined by the hunters.
But close to Dracula's castle, his vampire women had managed to abduct Mina – only for one of them to lose her self-control as Mina tried to fight her off, causing her to bite Mina. And because she would have been punished by the Count for taking blood from someone he had already claimed as one of his own, the vampiress Nikolett hatched a daring plan with her sisters and presented it to Mina. If Mina allowed the three vampire women to 'sire' her, it was hoped that the psychic link between Mina and Count Dracula would be disrupted and grant Mina enough mental clarity to overthrow the Count's hold on her, when he arrived at the castle. Otherwise, if the Count had completed Mina's transformation into his latest undead childe, she would become a prisoner of his strong will and remain his slave, until true death did them part.
After weighing up her options, not knowing if the menfolk in her party would be able to rescue her in time, before Dracula reached the castle, Mina had bravely agreed to the sisters' scheme – to turn her into their own vampire offspring. Their 'childe'.
And so they did. But even upon her reawakening from death, they had regarded her not as their offspring, but as their youngest sister – as the latest addiction to their 'family'. To be cared for and taught their ways in how to live as a vampire.
And in the battle at the castle between the vampires and the hunters, Mina had managed to win her internal battle to hold onto her humanity and turn upon Count Dracula. Just as the vampire sisters had hoped would happen. So that they could finally be free from their cruel, controlling master. In the end, Professor Van Helsing and Quincey Morris died in the fighting, as did Nikolett. But thanks to Mina's desperate gamble, Count Dracula also perished.
And, now finding themselves the prisoners of the surviving vampire ladies and the Count's Szgany gypsy servants, Jonathan Harker and the other two remaining hunters allowed themselves to become the vampire grooms to the three vampire 'brides'. Consequently, Mr and Mrs Harker were now devoted to each other in undeath...
I smiled at them as they lovingly looked at one another, clasping each other's hands. Despite all of what they had been through, they had literally died for each other. Mina had sacrificed her mortality in a gamble to save her friends, as well as to help liberate her new sisters. And Jonathan had voluntarily surrendered his life by becoming a vampire, in order to be with Mina and continue their marriage. For love. For as long as they could, now that they were both more or less immortal…
I glanced at John. He was listening intently – but I could sense his struggle to accept everything that was being presented to him. I could not blame him. Not so long ago, both of us – and Sherlock Holmes too – had been utterly unaware of the existence of vampires. The undead.
And now I was one of them. A creature of myth made real. A bloodthirsty predator of the night, doomed to feed upon human blood night after night. But in the company of the Harkers, I held the hope that I did not have to lose myself to darkness – I could refrain from giving in completely to my base instincts to kill and drain my human prey, as I had done to that tramp after breaking out of my grave, confused, frightened, and thirsty, bringing me down to the level of a savage, hungry animal. It was clear that the Harkers were each other's anchor to holding onto their humanity – and that two of the former Baker Street Irregulars, who Holmes had trusted – were willing servants, and blood donors, to the couple.
So I would have to stay with the Harkers, and trust that they would be much better undead companions – and teachers – compared to my experiences at Cherry Tree House. There was hope for me still. I did not have to be dammed, after all…
But, when we could, John and I would need to have a long, private talk. To determine the new status in our relationship. And that would not be easy…