The Lady In White
- I -
Out Of Hell
Oh when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrow?
Oh when shall my soul wing her flight from this clay?
The present is hell, and the coming tomorrow
But brings, with new torture, the curse of today.
– Lord Byron
"Renfield, you have betrayed me."
Those had been the last words he had heard from his Master, echoing in his head over and over. Then, silence. Complete, vast emptiness. Like the sonorous voice had never made alluring promises, like the all-dominant presence had never enveloped his mind. With sweet Vanessa Ives's death, the Master had left him.
Renfield could have felt relief about the eventual peace, about the soothing absence of words and whispers, of the fragmented images that had constantly come to him in the night. He could have finally fallen asleep and rested his maltreated senses. He could have done so had there not been that one sensation, the urge, nay the overwhelming need…
Thirst.
The unsatisfied thirst for the blood of living beings tortured him more now than the Master himself ever had, his throat burning, his entire body aching for the existence-sustaining liquid.
The warders kept bringing him bread and water, none of them understanding the nature of his agony, everyone dismissing his enraged demands and desperate pleas for that special nourishment, dismissing them as the delusional outbursts of a madman. He had tried to feed on everything he could catch then, flies, spiders, the smallest of lives, but of course they were never enough.
When an orderly had visited his cell to ask him pointless questions about his recent behaviour, he hadn't been able to restrain himself. He had attacked the man, choking him, his nails grazing the flesh of his throat, but before he could bite him, others had come to the rescue, brutally clubbing Renfield down. He hurried to lick his own fingers, to get a taste of his victim's blood, only one drop, 'ere they forced him into a straitjacket again. That sweetest, most delightful flavour of life was gone in an instant, but he feasted in it as though it had been the ambrosia of the gods. With the dawn, even the pleasant memory of that exquisite taste had vanished, replaced by the old adversary of that burning, ravenous, all-consuming thirst.
Imprisoned and restrained, Renfield would never be able to feed himself. The only one who could allay his pain was the creature who had brought this cursed gift upon him. And so, he had begged his Master to come back to him, with words, in thoughts, in his dreams. He promised to endure every punishment for his betrayal, to never again tell any mortal being about him. He had whispered his name like an incantation and screamed for him like the abandoned child he was, but... nothing. Not the faintest sign. Renfield stayed doomed to agony. Sheer endless agony and a slow death from starvation. Or so it seemed.
The lady in white stopped in her tracks, her cerulean eyes shaded by the parasol she carried despite the fact that the sun was totally obscured by the low, gray clouds. She gazed with undisguised interest at the oblong building on the other side of the street. It was the second time now that she had chosen this way on her daily walks and for the second time she sensed something from behind that high fence, from behind those thick walls. Something that felt strangely familiar, like a long-gone memory faintly remembered, like the distant voice of an old acquaintance speaking in a dream. At first, she had ignored it, thinking that she was mishearing something some other passersby had mumbled, but now she was sure it was somehow emerging from the other side of those walls. Bethlem Royal Hospital, London's largest lunatic asylum, indeed, it was a mental institution for the criminally insane. She had known of it, and of its unsavoury reputation. What, or rather who, could possibly possess the power to whisper to her from the inside of that ominous edifice? Well, whatever the source, these disembodied whispers had aroused her interest. Rather than let her morbid curiosity reign over this mystery, she decided that it was time to take action and to make some investigations.
Doctor Henry Jekyll, by inheritance now Lord Hyde, stood in his underground laboratory, waiting for the huge apparatus of vials and tubes to finish producing a dose of his auspicious elixir. With Dr Victor Frankenstein's help he had been able to cure seventeen patients from their delusions now. Only two men hadn't survived the injection into their prefrontal cortex, all others seemed to have lost all their aggression – along with their memory alas, but he considered this side effect a small price to pay for curing their mental ailments.
However, there was one patient who proved to be an outlier in Jekyll's study, for he showed no reaction to the treatment. None at all. Renfield was his name, and he suffered from a mental disease the psychiatrists described as vampirism, believing his life depended on the consumption of human blood. Lord Hyde had tried the serum three times on him now, and three times the maniac had just continued to yell, berate and insult him and the entire medical profession. As these outbursts were the same whether before or after the injection, it became apparent that Renfield was totally immune to its effects. He had increased the doses and would give him a double one as soon as enough of the blueish liquid had trickled into the measuring glass.
While he waited, Henry thought of Victor. After the physician hadn't had the heart to force his beloved Lily into oblivion, his friend had retired to his own laboratory and Jekyll hadn't seen him since. He sincerely hoped Victor wouldn't return to the bittersweet temptation of morphine again.
Suddenly a knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts. It was the janitor, a crooked, bald man with rheumy eyes.
"There's a lady for ye..." he mumbled.
Jekyll gave him an intense, reprehensive stare.
"...Doctor," the janitor added in an annoyed tone.
Henry really would have enjoyed being called Milord, but since he had not told anyone in Bethlem of his recent inheritance yet and intended to keep it so until he would have sorted out all the formalities, his academic title had to suffice.
"I don't expect anyone, not to mention a lady," he answered cooly.
"But a lady she is, aye, and a beautiful one at that!"
Jekyll thought of ordering the porter to send that woman away as he had neither the time nor the energy to deal with an unknown visitor of some sort, but before he could open his mouth, he heard the door creaking and suddenly he sensed something odd. It seemed like in that moment a strange presence had entered the room, changing the already damp atmosphere of the basement lab into a frosty winter. The sound of steps echoed louder than it should have in the high-ceilinged room, and then the doctor saw the figure of a woman whose snow-white skin and clothing contrasted the dark surroundings like the moon the night sky. Her small frame, ginger hair, azure eyes, and red lips gave her the looks of a fragile doll, the milky fabric of her dress flowing around her like a mystic aura. Henry felt as if he had become witness to a ghostly apparition, as if he had just crossed the boundary from the here and now to the other side. But after a moment, the odd impression was gone, and before him stood a young woman of flesh and blood. Indeed, she was very beautiful although extremely pale. Perhaps she suffered from anaemia.
"So, you are the chemist who invented a cure for all the tormented souls...?" Her voice sounded sweet and bell-like. "I am Lady Godalming."
He needed a moment to swallow the lump in his throat, but then he stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Yes, if you like to call it so. Dr Henry Jekyll."
The lady in white had already assumed the doctor's Indian ancestry by his complexion and hair colour before the doctor's accent confirmed it. With this most useful invention of his, he had been the most promising part of her investigation of Bethlem, and he was without doubt an interesting man. She could see a brilliant intellect in his dark eyes. Beyond that, she could sense his visionary, pioneering ambitions as well as the demons from his past, all rejection, rage, and frustration. Yes, the man before her was quite intriguing, but he did not seem to be the one she had been searching for. As outstanding a scientist as he might be, he did not possess the mental power to reach out to her in any way, for at the root of things he was just an ordinary, mortal human being.
Still, the presence had grown stronger since she had entered the building, those insistent whispers now louder and more clear than ever. They were pleading, begging, beseeching her for help. She was on the right track. Perhaps this good doctor could provide her a clue.
"I've read and heard quite a lot about your work and if you have a moment, Doctor, I'd like to talk about the wonders your elixir does," she said, her tone as light as her appearance.
"Of course, Lady Godalming, I am happy to tell you everything you wish to know," Jekyll agreed, still somewhat under the spell of this extraordinary woman.
Indeed, although he still wondered what a sophisticated young lady would want in such an unpleasant place like Bethlem, he considered her a wealthy prospective sponsor, whose gratuities he could use despite his own inheritance.
After he had shoved out the filthy janitor, who didn't seem all too interested in leaving, the lady examined everything in the lab with her keen blue eyes, from the distilling tubes to the barber's chair, undeterred by the brutal looks of the machinery.
"You claim your serum can cure any kind of aggressive behaviour, any type of compulsion?" she eventually asked.
"Oh, I do not just claim, Milady, I have proof of it. Seventeen of twenty patients who had been diagnosed as criminally insane and a violent threat to society have been cured completely after only one injection," Jekyll answered proudly.
"What of the others, if I may inquire?" Her raised eyebrow showed an expression of both curiosity and skepticism.
"Well, I must admit two didn't survive the procedure, if because the patient's body had a severe reaction to the medicine itself or the shock to his system, I cannot tell yet, but I will of course try everything to prevent that in the future," the doctor explained, while in an action of nervousness tying his hair back.
"And the twentieth?" she asked as she continued the interrogation.
"Excuse me?"
"You said seventeen of twenty were cured, while two died. That leaves one, if I calculate correctly." Her voice had not lost its hint of sweetness, but the demanding undertone indicated to him that she indeed was used to giving commands.
"Oh, yes, this one. He is quite a... special case."
"A special case? In what way?" With a rustling of her white dress Lady Godalming approached more closely to him.
Jekyll did not know what to answer. He had no intention of revealing his patients' personal details to a stranger, a potential wealthy patron or not, but there was something in her steely blue eyes that captured his full attention, that dragged his mind against his will even more deeply into the case she was now so interested in.
"Tell me, dear Doctor..." Suddenly very close, she placed her tiny lace gloved hands on his chest, looking up at him with the sweetest smile. "Who is the twentieth patient?"
Like in trance Henry Jekyll responded to her request, the sought-after words leaving his mouth involuntarily: "The maniac's name is Renfield. I have tried the serum three times now on him, but without success. So, I was just about to visit him and give him a double dose, when the janitor announced your arrival..."
"Perfect." An excited spark lit up the lady's eyes and her smile broadened, showing an immaculate row of pearl white teeth. "Let's visit him together, shall we?"
While she walked down the dark corridors, following the doctor's lead, the screams, howls and whimpering of dozens of madmen rang in her sensitive ears, but despite the noise, she could still hear that one special plea, repeating itself again and again. And it got more intense with every step she took in the direction of this patient's room.
He was reaching out for help, for nourishment, for someone to find him, his maker, his master. Oh, she knew well who he was calling for, but it was not going to be him coming to his rescue. It was her.
When all around grew drear and dark,
And reason half withheld her ray
And hope but shed a dying spark
Which more misled my lonely way;
In that deep midnight of the mind,
And that internal strife of heart,
When dreading to be deem'd too kind,
The weak despair – the cold depart;
When fortune changed – and love fled far
And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast
Thou wert the solitary star
Which rose and set not to the last.
Oh! blest be thine unbroken light!
That watch'd me as a seraph's eye,
And stood between me and the night,
For ever shining sweetly nigh.
– Lord Byron
Renfield sat on the floor in the corner of his dark cell, resting his aching head on the cold, damp wall. It was time for him to stop begging for help, for all his screaming, all his whispering had been in vain. The Master would never come to rescue him from this purgatory, he was sure of it now.
All the supernatural strength that had circulated in his veins while serving him and receiving his gifts, all the wonderful demonic energy was gone. He felt weak, so weak. And though he couldn't fall asleep, for the red-hot flame of thirst constantly licked the interior of his throat, scorching his intestines, his heart, his brain, his soul. His soul... Was there still anything like a soul remaining in him to ascend to heaven after his flesh had decayed? Or had it become some foul, deformed, atrophied lump that would go straight to hell where it belonged?
The noise of the heavy key turning in the door lock startled him out of his black musings and his weary eyes moved towards the intruder. It was the pathetic Indian doctor with his oh so promising syringe. Was he really going to try that useless concoction on him again, injecting it right through his eye and into his brain for the fourth time? Surely this imbecile had placed him in the placebo group of his moronic study. If he had not been too weak to even talk, Renfield would have made an insulting comment about Jekyll's parentage.
He lifted his head from the wall to at least hiss at him, when a sudden surge of sensations hit him with the force of a tempest.
A presence far more impressive than the doctor had entered the room, lighting up the darkness with the bright light of the full moon, cooling the air with the free breeze of blowing snow. He could hear footsteps echoing, constant breathing, a slow, regular heartbeat. And then he saw her standing in front of him, a radiant epiphany in white, wearing a halo of fire, looking down on him with the bluest eyes. Behold, the angel of the Lord had appeared unto him in a dream!
Although all his senses were on the verge of bursting, his mind felt at ease, the heavenly apparition soothing his tormented self. And when she opened her divine lips, speaking his name, he knew he would find salvation.
"Mr Renfield? Can you hear me?" Lady Godalming addressed the patient who knelt in front of her on the filthy floor, restrained in a straitjacket and chained to the wall.
The young man did not answer, he just stared at her with dull, pale blue eyes, his unhealthily colourless face and disheveled ash blond hair covered in dirt and dust. Black pulsing veins protruded on his neck and forehead, as though some deadly disease crawled under his skin and slowly gnawed at his very flesh.
"Oh, poor boy! What have they done to you?" she whispered, although the question did not need asking, for she knew that look of pure terror, the symptoms of sheer endless agony. She knew of this thirst that was like no other.
The lady's gaze wandered to Jekyll, fixating him and rendering him motionless where he stood, before she narrowed her eyes to slits.
"Have you ever fed him since he's here?" Her voice no longer had that bell-like quality.
"Of course, we have," the doctor confirmed, slightly bewildered by this question. "He gets porridge, bread and water three times a day like every patient."
"Ignorant fool!" Lady Godalming suddenly hissed. "Don't you tell me he hasn't begged you for what he truly needs, that he hasn't tried to get it at any cost!"
"You mean human blood?" Henry seemed baffled. "But how can you know of this particular delusion...?"
"This is not a delusion, Doctor!" Severe anger was evident in her voice, and he could swear her pearly teeth looked pointier now than before. "Come and see for yourself!"
With that she took a step towards Renfield and knelt beside him, the skirts of her pure white dress fanning out on the dirty floor. What followed was so utterly odd, so unbelievably disconcerting, Jekyll doubted his own perception. The lady pulled off her gloves and with the sharp nail of her own right thumb cut into the milky white skin of her left wrist until a large drop of blood poured out the wound. She then put her arm around the weak young man, supporting him, while holding the dripping cut right before his dry lips.
"Drink," she spoke under her breath.
And he obeyed at once.
This had to be heaven! The angelic figure had not just come to sooth his mind, but to satisfy his most desperate need. She had come to mercifully feed him with her own divine nectar. Ravenously he licked the wound on her cool, soft wrist, devouring every single one of the crimson drops like a starving animal would gorge on the tiniest bit of bone.
Oh finest, richest, sweetest of all tastes! Oh, most longed for liquid, nourishing him, easing his pain, calming his senses! Renfield felt like bathing in a redeeming ocean, he floated on gentle waves of red. Finally appeased, he let his eyes flutter shut and his head fall back on his saviour's shoulder.
"Thank you," he whispered in blissful relief. "Oh God, thank you."
Doctor Jekyll stared at the bizarre scene, aghast. This was not what he had anticipated when showing Lady Godalming to the incurable patient's cell. He thought about calling the warders, but could not think of a satisfactory reason to justify this, for there actually was no danger to be averted.
After greedily swallowing the blood she had given him to drink, Renfield seemed to be peaceful now, more stable and composed than Henry had ever seen him. After resting for a few moments on her shoulder, he raised his head again, and to the doctor's surprise, the spark of madness had completely vanished from his eyes.
"My dear, lovely Lady," the patient spoke in a soft, melodic tone. "You will never regret the true-hearted act of grace you showed to me today."
He then addressed Jekyll. "And my good Doctor, all my gratitude to you for bringing the angel of mercy here to my modest room."
While Henry still gazed at the former madman, bewildered by his utterly changed manners, the young woman smiled warmly at him, then rose.
"Now, Doctor, would you be so kind and free Mr Renfield from his chains?"
Jekyll hesitated, his dark eyes flickering from the lady to the patient and back. Now that he behaved so friendly, there was no reason not to unchain Renfield. However, the chemist did not trust him yet, for he acted just too courteous to be true.
"Doctor Jekyll!" Lady Godalming's demanding voice startled him.
"...of course," he murmured, fumbled the key from his belt and opened the padlock on the wall.
Happily sighing, Renfield stood up, stretching his stiff legs.
"And the straitjacket, if you please," the woman in white kept on commanding.
In every other situation Henry would have protested being ordered around – in the past, every attempt to humiliate him had triggered his fits of rage and he had always vehemently defended his pride – but the unordinary dominating presence of Lady Godalming somehow made him forget his short-tempered nature. And so, he wordlessly untied the overlong sleeves and helped Renfield out of the unpleasant piece of clothing. Despite only wearing ragged trousers and a dirty undershirt now, the young man stood in the middle of the shabby cell like an uncrowned king, elated like a former culprit newly acquitted of all charges.
"It seems your auspicious, lunacy curing elixir wasn't what this man needed, doesn't it, Doctor?" The lady stated, her tone bell-like again. "Instead, it was exactly the essence he told you he required that in the end led to his recovery. Isn't this proof enough for his mental sanity? That he is no madman at all? That he has been kept here wrongfully?"
Jekyll furrowed his brow, finally finding his voice again.
"Are you suggesting to... discharge him?"
"What a clever scientist you are," she jested, but the look in her cerulean eyes remained demanding.
While heading down the corridor to gather the necessary papers, Henry kept telling himself that he did not lose anything by releasing Renfield, that a patient immune to his serum was of no use to his research anyway, that there was no reason not to let him go. Rather, he would be glad to no longer have him as a thorn in his side. He completely blanked out the thought that Lady Godalming could have manipulated him, that her otherworldly presence could have possessed him in any way, making him do her bidding.
This, however, was exactly what had happened. She always had known how to get what she wanted, especially from intelligent, academic men. With her transformation that skill had been augmented to new heights and today she mastered the art of persuasion. If she had wanted, she could have brought Jekyll to set every single man in Bethlem free, even the most violent among them. But she was only interested in this particular one, who now followed her up the stairs to the entrance hall on bare feet.
Renfield walked beside the lady in white with his legs still weak from weeks of sitting in that dark hole of a cell, but his senses were sharper than ever, his mind focused and determined to eventually reach the exit of the hell that was Bethlem Royal Hospital. When he had recovered in her arms he had realised that the young woman was not an angel sent from heaven to accompany him in his final hour, but a night creature like himself. She was one of the Master's children, too, she knew the kind of pain Renfield had suffered, and exactly how to overcome it, growing strong and independent from Dracula's mercy. She walked her own way now. What a fascinating woman she was!
After Dr Jekyll had signed the discharge papers, Renfield had gotten back his clothes, shoes and even his pocket watch and wallet. He had provisionally cleaned himself, shaved and combed his hair, so he looked almost human again. Out of habit he put on his glasses, although with his increased sight he no longer had need of them, and stepped through the main portal into the evening light. Drawing a deep breath of cool air, he took in all the impressions of the outside world, all the noises and smells of living London. However unpleasant they might be, they were messengers of liberty.
"Congratulations, Mr Renfield, you are a free man," the lady in white said with a smile. "What will you do now?"
He thought about it for a moment. Going back to his old work as that despicable hag Dr Seward's receptionist was out of question – that slut had pretended to be his friend while drugging and hypnotising him, ploughing up his brain, making him reveal the Master's whereabouts.
He assumed that by now he was also homeless, because surely his landlord had cleared out his flat and sold his belongings when noticing that he had become a resident in a lunatic asylum. Furthermore, he had no family or relatives he could have turned to.
Hesitantly, Renfield stepped closer to the young woman, who was about a head shorter than him, shyly taking a look into her mesmerising blue eyes.
"I'm wondering, Milady..." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'm wondering, if you might require a secretary."
A small, bell-like laugh left her perfect lips.
"I don't," she said.
He furrowed his brow, but before his heart sank, she added: "But I could make use of a faithful servant."
Upon hearing this, joy spread all over his features and he bowed low, taking her gloved hand in his for an implied kiss.
"What's your first name?" she asked.
"Richard," he replied happily. "Richard Mortimer Renfield, at your service."
"Lucy Holmwood, Lady Godalming," she introduced herself with a sweet smile, then gracefully strode through the gateway, before turning back to him. "What are you waiting for? Come along, my dear."
"Yes, Mistress!" he answered and hurried to catch up.
Together they walked into the misty London night.
Author's note:
About how this came to be:
I've been a huge fan of Bram Stoker's book and its movie adaptions for almost two decades now and from the first moment I've loved the character of Renfield. I was excited to hear that in 2023 he would get his own movie, but in the end I was a bit disappointed by the overdone action and effects and the rather simple plot. Then I remembered the Penny Dreadful TV series and how much better I liked the atmosphere and the tragic story there. While watching the 3rd season I thought about which characters from Dracula were included there and which were not... and I noticed that there is no Lucy! What and why the hell?! This was when the idea for this story came to my mind :)
About Renfield's first name:
From the book we only know his initials R.M.. I refuse to name him "Robert Montague" like they did in the movie! I've got my own interpretation. Btw, there's a character in Stevenson's Jekyll and Hyde called "Richard Enfield", but funnily enough I found that out only after writing this LOL
Thanks to my wonderful beta Haegun on DA!