I threw back the shutters and opened the window. And saw nothing save a shaft
of moonlight, which streamed in, forming a golden-white pool of light on the
floor. In that circle of light, flecks of glittering dust floated - lazily at
first, then faster, faster, until they swirled, merged, and coalesced into a
form.
The motion made me dizzy; I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, Uncle
stood in the cone of light. I remembered at once that this was the same dream
I had had the previous night, and the night before that - always seeing Uncle's
face at the window. But now, with Brutus gone, he was free to enter.
He seemed somehow younger, handsomer; again, this evoked no surprise. I felt
no shock, no fright, no sense of impropriety to see him standing in my boudoir
in the middle of the night. No; wicked woman that I am, I stepped forward, boldly
threw my arms about him, and whispered, "Uncle! I am so glad that you have come!"
He stood perfectly still and straight, as if reluctant to move. Beneath my
hands, his muscles - so strong he is, for a man of any age! - tensed, rigid and
firm as stone. For a moment, neither of us spoke, only gazed into each other's
eyes (his eyes are beautiful enough to make a woman envious! deep, rich evergreen,
large and heavy-lidded). In the moonlight, his skin glowed as though infused
with radiant white fire.
And then he said, "Zsuzsa, I fear this is a grave mistake. I shall go - "
"No!" I begged, and held him more tightly, fearing he would disintegrate into
glittering dust in my arms. "It is what
I
want! Dont you see?
I
have drawn you here, night after night! Only kiss me
!"
Beneath the fine silk of his cloak, his muscles shuddered, then relaxed, and
he lifted a night-chilled hand to my cheek and stroked it. As I stared into
his eyes, mesmerised, I saw his pupils redden, as if the forest therein had
been abruptly consumed by flame.
"Please," I whispered, and he leaned forward and pressed his lips to my cheek.
Oh, those lips were cold, but it was a cold that burned, and I fell back and
let myself be supported by an arm as unyielding as steel.
"I am so hungry, Zsuzsa," he sighed. "I can no longer resist
"
He brushed his lips against my skin, so that I felt his breath hot upon me,
and drew them down, down, across the line of my jaw, over the soft curve there
to the tender flesh of my neck. I trembled in sheer ecstasy as he lingered there;
then he reached with his free hand and pulled the ribbon that secured my nightgown
at the collar. It came undone, and the gauzy white fabric fell down around my
waist. I am fair; my skin has never seen the sun, but his was fairer and, when
the moon broke through the clouds, shimmered with flecks of gold and pink and
blue fire like an opal.
Beneath my white breast, he cupped his whiter hand (God forgive me! but as
I write these words, I am overcome; shame wars with rapture. If he were here
now, I would guide his hand myself!) and brushed his cold red lips over my skin,
past the hollow of my collarbone, down between my breasts. For a moment he lingered
there, and I buried my fingers in his thick hair and pressed him hard against
me. He straightened suddenly, trembling as though he could bear to be denied
no longer, and fastened his lips upon my neck. I felt his tongue sweep lightly,
languidly against my skin, and then the pressure of his teeth.
He poised, waiting.
I am a sheltered woman. I know nothing of life and love, and so the details
of my dream beyond this were vague. I know only that I felt a sharp pain, and
then a flood of rapturous warmth, as if I were melting like wax in the presence
of such animal heat. I felt that he and I were one, that the very essence of
my being swelled like a wave and flowed out towards him as it crested and broke.
I cried out and struggled altogether free of the nightgown, then twined my arms
and legs about him and held on so tightly that not a millimeter of space remained
between our bodies.
How long this ecstasy continued, I cannot say, but I know I lay overwhelmed
in his arms, aware of nothing but a languid pleasure that pulsated to the rhythm
of my beating heart. When at last he withdrew, I sensed he did so unsatiated,
for my sake, choosing instead only to dim his longing rather than appease it.
My cheeks burn now like a new bride recalling her wedding night! The event
had such an air of reality that even now I grow confused whether it actually
happened or not; I woke shivering this morning to find myself entirely indecent
and unclothed upon the bed, with the sheets thrown back and the nightgown lying
in a heap on the floor near the window.
I feel closer to Uncle than ever, as if he and I truly share this wicked, marvelous
secret.
Writing this, I feel bold as a harlot. Did I say I wanted forgiveness? No more!
My life has been so barren and sad; whether it be the worst sort of evil or
not, whether it be sickness, madness, delusion, I will not deny myself the brightest
joy I have ever known. The risk of Hell is worth such happiness. Brutus shall
remain in the kitchen tonight, and I shall sleep with the windows open, "perchance
to dream."
If he goes to England, I shall die!
Letter to Matthew P. Jeffries
[dictated and translated from the Roumanian]
7 April My Friend,
Welcome to the Carpathians. I was keenly disappointed to receive news of
your postponed arrival, but all things work for good; there has been illness
in the castle and it is just as well your visit was delayed.
However, now the timing could not be better! I received your letter from
Vienna saying that you would arrive in Bistritz the evening of the eighth. This
letter shall await you
-
as I do most anxiously. Sleep well tonight,
for tomorrow morning, 9 April, the diligence for Bucovina will depart at eight.
My coachman will meet you at the Borgo Pass and will bring you to me.
Your proposed
Times
article sounds most intriguing. I would be
happy to provide whatever useful information I can and look forward to our conversations
on the subject.
May you meet with no further travel difficulties, and may you enjoy your
stay in my beautiful land.
Your friend, Vlad Dracula
* * *
The Journal of Mary Windham Tsepesh
8 April.
Dear God, what shall I say to my husband?
I sense that something terrible has happened recently, something to add to
his grief over his father's death. I believe he and Vlad have had an argument,
or that he has made some shocking discovery at the castle.
Certainly, it can be no more shocking than the one I have made.
I had divined at once that Zsuzsanna was infatuated with her uncle, and that
he did nothing to discourage her - to the contrary, he fanned the flames. But
I had no idea - !
Poor Arkady was so distraught last night that he stayed reading in the drawing-room
and did not come to bed until a few hours before dawn; and I am so accustomed
now to the sounds of his breathing and the feel of a warm body beside me in
the bed that I became restless myself. I considered lighting the lamp and writing
another journal entry, but my eyes were tired after hours of reading and writing
yesterday, and so in the dark I wandered over to the bay window, thinking to
crack it, that fresh air might help me sleep. While there, I was taken by the
sight of the near-f moon drifting through the clouds, and I sat on the velvet
cushion in the little alcove window-seat. The moon was so bright that the landscape
was lit up almost like the day.
Our bedroom is in the wing directly across from Zsuzsannas; only a grassy
stretch of ground separates us, and I could easily hurl a stone into her room
from ours. Each bedroom features a large picture window that affords a lovely
view, but we have complete privacy behind our heavy curtains, and Zsuzsanna
behind her shutters.
Yet last night, I pulled the edge of the curtain aside to better see the moon - and
when I did, my eye caught sight of something running across the stretch of ground
towards Zsuzsanna's room. Thinking it was one of the wolves Arkady so often
warns me about, I pressed close to the glass to better see. I was not afraid,
since the curtain hid me quite well and I doubted the animal could leap two
floors, but I was very curious, as being a city-dweller I had never before seen
a wolf except in picture-books.
But before I could focus on the object of my interest, I was distracted by
movement at Zsuzsanna's window. I watched as she flung the shutters back and
pushed open the window, letting in the streaming moonlight.
This gave me a fright, and I almost thought to call a warning about the wolf
when I noticed a figure beside her in the little alcove by the window-seat.
How it arrived there, I cannot say, but I can say who it was: Vlad.
As I watched, horrified, they embraced; and then he reached for the ribbon
at her throat, and when it came undone and her nightgown fell away -
To write further sickens me. I turned away, unable to bear the sight, and pulled
the curtains shut.
I scarcely slept last night. I am torn. Arkady is already troubled enough by
some secret sorrow, and all I would be doing would be transferring my dilemma
onto his overburdened shoulders. Yet I cannot decide whether it is more appropriate
to confront Vlad or Zsuzsanna - or to remain silent altogether.
My poor darling; you have suffered so much recently. Is this what torments
you? Do you already know?
* * *
The Diary of Arkady Tsepesh
9 April.
I am beginning to think that everyone in the castle is slightly mad.
I went there early yesterday to familiarise myself with Uncle's affairs. Most
certainly I did not speak to either Zsuzsanna or Mary of the monstrosity I had
witnessed in the family tomb; they could not have borne the shock. Nor did I
feel that I could have borne it again, but on the way to Uncle's I found myself
compelled to drive the caleche past Father's resting place, and go inside.
What I saw inside the tomb soothed my heart. The casket had been rebolted,
the roses lovingly replaced, and the marble floor cleaned; the horrible saw
and mallet had been removed as well, and all looked as it had before the desecration.
I felt a deep gratitude towards Uncle, who had overcome his own grief to deal
with this horrible matter, thus easing mine, and protecting the rest of the
family.
When I arrived at the castle, my melancholy was rekindled by the sight of Father's
desk, which lay just as he had left it, in a small room in the east wing with
a magnificent view of the Carpathians. Everything was tidy and well organised;
I easily found all of Uncle's financial information, and soon forgot my sadness
as I involved myself in work.
In all honesty, I was startled by the extent of V.s wealth. Considering the
degree of it, there are fewer servants than one might expect: only three chambermaids,
one cook, one stablehand, a gardener, and the steward - and of course, the unpleasant
coachman, Laszlo. After speaking with the overseer of Uncle's fields, I made
a most unsettling discovery: our family's land is worked by
rumini,
actual serfs, over whom Uncle still possesses the ancient
droits du seigneur!
Feudalism is usually an unjust system in favour of the lord, who owns the land;
the serfs pay him a tithe to farm it, then another ten percent of the proceeds,
in addition to paying the
bir,
a sizable personal tax for protection.
But in V.s case, the
rumini
paid no tithe, only five percent of the
proceeds from sale of harvest, and a yearly
bir
of only pennies (as
though we still feared Turkish marauders and, for such a minuscule sum, would
offer to all the wartime shelter of the Tsepesh castle walls). Another surprise:
Uncle owns most of the village, yet receives no rent. Only one arrangement seemed
to his advantage: the serfs are required to do whatever work V. bids, whenever
he bids it. Today one of them was at the castle, remortaring some stone which
had come loose near the entrance. He bowed politely as I neared, but as I passed
by, I could hear him grumbling under his breath about ignoring his own pressing
work in the fields in favour of the
voievods,
the princes. He worked
with a languor born of reluctance, which I resented in the light of V.s generosity.
To think that feudalism is still alive, in this day and age
! Clearly, V.
collects only a fraction of that to which he is entitled. This is no way to
make a profit; it would be far more businesslike to release the serfs from their
obligations and rehire them as labourers at a lower, more reasonable wage, and
pocket the profits made from the selling of crops himself. His extravagant kindness
has, I fear, led the serfs to take advantage of him.
But that does not trouble me as much as the notion of feudalism itself, which
suggests that V. owns the peasants and their homes outright. No man has the
right to so control another. Far more just for all would be the system of a
fair wage for a fair day's work.
I was surprised also by the high wages - far more than a trained domestic might
receive in England - paid the domestic servants, which certainly fails to explain
their cool, though polite, behaviour towards me. The undercurrent of hostility
was there, again, although I still cannot decide whether they despise or fear
me, or both. Masika Ivanovna alone is good-natured; this is fortunate, since
she serves as chambermaid for the east wing (where my office is located) and
the west (where Uncle dwells). The other two chambermaids, Ana and Helga, share
Laszlo's cold, sour disposition despite their youth.
Yet I begin to question Masika Ivanovna's sanity. There is a strange air of
unpleasantness in this castle, no doubt due to the resentment of the servants
and Uncle's odd habits, and I suspect that decades of service here would work
on a peasant's superstitious mentality. After I introduced myself to the servants
in the main wing and retired to Father's office to work for some time, Masika
Ivanovna appeared - to perform her daily tasks, I assumed. She made a show of
dusting all the furniture, then lingered uneasily, for so long that finally
I interrupted my work to ask whether she had something to say.