Chapter Text
Dr. Seward’s diary, handwritten, 12 December
Returned to Exeter today as planned and found all in good order. Harker suffered a bit of a regression Friday night, but appears to have since regained lost ground. His fever continues to dwindle, and his appetite improves. I brought with me goods and supplies to last another week or more, but I don’t think I shall have cause to stay that long. Van Helsing has instructed Mina on the use of hypodermic needles, and she is already quite competent with their placement. While my asylum has not suffered in my absence, I believe that Hennessey will be glad to have me back, as it is quite a large job for one physician.
One matter I attended to while in London was the writing of a letter to Art, that he may see it when he has returned. I am not sure as to the details of his return, but I believe it will be within the next ten days. I hope so, anyway, or else I shall feel quite the cad for requesting that he host a pair of guests for the holiday! ‘Hello Art, hope Texas was swell, can you put the Harkers up for a few weeks starting tomorrow?’ I can clearly hear Quincey’s voice in this, and the thought of it makes me smile.
Dr. Seward’s diary, handwritten, 13 December
Mina, Harker, Van Helsing, and I have just had a most fruitful discussion.
We have tentatively concluded that Harker’s case no longer requires continuous oversight, but we are reluctant to declare him wholly out of danger. We have therefore decided to continue as we have been until this Thursday. If all seems well by then, Van Helsing and I shall depart together – he wishes to spend some time in London and review in more detail his findings about the transfusion of blood. I believe we are on the cusp of a significant breakthrough in this science, and am eager to see what he may demonstrate with a full array of medical and chemical equipment!
I am satisfied with this resolution, as I have no wish to become burdensome as a house-guest if my utility as a physician no longer balances the ledger. Furthermore, I had already begun to suspect that Harker was rather exhausted by the constant company, to say nothing of the scrutiny. I had this confirmed early on in the discussion, for after some coaxing from his wife, he spoke quite plainly on the matter. “You have both been so good to Mina and me,” he said, “and I would gladly host you as long as you could stay. But I am no host just now, and it would not sit well with me to ask Mina to act as hostess in my place when I am already taking too much of her time and attention.” He glanced at her as he said this, as though anticipating some addendum or denial, but she simply covered his hand with her own and looked at him warmly.
He still cannot sit upright under his own power for long, and so was propped up against the headboard, yet despite the rather intimate setting he struck me as the quintessential solicitor, speaking precisely in measured words and soft voice with the utmost care for decorum. “My judgement is perhaps not the most trustworthy at the moment,” he went on, “and so I will defer to yours in the matter of risk and reward, but if we are casting votes then mine is that you should be allowed to return to your other aims and patients as soon as you safely may.”
“And you be allowed to recover in peace,” Van Helsing surmised, “without the bustling about of two extra people in your home.”
Harker’s smile was wan but good-natured. “I wouldn’t have said that.”
“Ha! Only because you are too polite! But worry not – such is the nature of our work that we hate to be called and love to be sent away! When you call for Van Helsing as a friend, he come with joy in his heart. When you call for him as a doctor, he go away with joy instead, for he may then be called back as friend.”
“We shall certainly call you back as friend,” Mina said earnestly. “And you as well, Jack. Never doubt that, either of you.”
I promised that I would not – it might have felt conceited, only I knew that I was swearing not to the sureness of my welcome but rather to the genuine intent behind the offer. After a bit more discussion, we decided that barring any emergent circumstances, the two of us would plan to depart on the 15th. That gives us two full days and two nights to be sure that nothing is amiss, and as the price for our swift departure poor Harker was forced to concede that in that time our examinations would be more frequent and robust.
By the time we are off, he will be thoroughly sick of us! Hopefully the intervening weeks will allow him to recuperate enough to come to Art’s for Christmas, if the invitation I have engineered is forthcoming. My hope is that I shall find it confirmed when I return to London, but that may be wholly wishful thinking.
Dr. Seward’s diary, handwritten, 14 December
I daresay that all this writing practice has been good for me. I will be glad to return to my phonograph and dictation, but perhaps now my written notes will be sufficiently legible to others that I may effectively delegate.
We put Harker through quite the gamut of tests today, and the poor fellow is now utterly done in. I expect him to sleep soundly tonight, unless our meddling has caused a resurgence in inflammation. We conducted the standard nerve panel – assessing relative strength and dexterity on both sides of the body – and probed the limits of his eyesight quite exhaustively. Then, as if that weren’t enough, Van Helsing and I hauled him up between us and had him try to walk. His balance isn’t as bad as we feared it might be after such a stretch of sensitivity to sound, but his diminished strength allowed only a few shaky steps before we were forced to take his weight and help him back to bed. He hasn’t been bedridden nearly long enough for the major muscles to have atrophied, and he has retained full sensation throughout his extremities, so we have chalked it up to the demands of healing. A body fighting to repair itself after illness or injury will not suffer extraneous demands, and from this case alone I am inclined to believe that this is doubly so – if not trebly so! – when the brain is affected.
He has maintained a low fever since my return two days ago, and while it is slight, it may certainly contribute to the fatigue. The pain has decreased enough that he has not had any morphine today – although I did give him a dose yesterday after our conference, as the effort of conversation had worsened his headache considerably – but I do not delude myself so fully as to believe that he is in no pain at all. That, too, will contribute to fatigue. Constant fever and constant pain are among the worst weathering forces upon the human body.
I know it does not seem it to him, but thus far I think that his recovery is progressing wonderfully. We have not yet decided, but I think Van Helsing and I shall take an earlier train tomorrow, perhaps even departing before lunch. Mina has demonstrated immense competence with both morphine injection and saline infusion, so I may depart easy in my mind about his continued care.
Dr. Seward’s diary, handwritten, 15 December
Contrary to my expectations, yesterday’s activity seems to have had an invigorating effect. Harker joined us at breakfast this morning! Rather, he sipped cautiously at a cup of tea held in his own hands while resting upon the sofa that Van Helsing and I had returned to the sitting room yesterday evening, but nevertheless I mark it as an excellent sign.
Our goods and papers are packed up, and Van Helsing and I shall be departing shortly for the train station. Mina has promised to write with updates and wire with any concerns, and although she has been the consummate host these past two weeks she is certainly looking forward to a return to normalcy, such as it may be.
I believe I will close this written account here, and return to my phonograph record-keeping when Van Helsing and I commence our investigation on the matter of blood transfusions.
My best wishes to them both, and may we meet again soon as friends!
Letter to Dr. John Seward from Mina Harker, 19 December
Dear Jack,
No, I have not forgotten my promise to keep you apprised, but remarkably little has happened since your departure. How wonderful that is!
Jonathan has required no morphine at all in that time, and although he is still quite tired and very easily fatigued, he has taken great satisfaction in expanding his dominion to include the sitting room sofa. After so long in bed, I think he rather loathes the thing and prefers not to remain there during the day. His vision is recovering slowest of all, but it is markedly better than it was a week ago, and the sensitivity to light has diminished to the point that the ordinary sunlight coming in through the windows is tolerable, so long as he does not face it directly.
What has really spurred me to write, however, was a most interesting letter that I received yesterday. It seems that Arthur has returned from America, and has somehow – most mysteriously! – learned of Jonathan’s condition. He returned to his home only two days ago and quite promptly, in my opinion, put everything in order so that he might host a cadre of guests for Christmas. He has urged us to join him there as soon as we may, and for as long as we should like, with promises that although the house has been unoccupied for several weeks it is quite suitable for company and boasts many conveniences that may be a boon to the weary.
Jack, you absolute scamp! You’ve quite spoiled my plans to invite you for Christmas, but I shall forgive you at once if you promise to join us at Arthur’s no later than the 24th. I understand that you’re a busy man, but don’t you dare think of asking us to celebrate without you. Van Helsing is of course also expected to attend, though if he hasn’t received an invitation already then that may be a fluke in the postal system, as he is still with you in London, is he not? I’m sure that your own invitation from Arthur has also arrived by now, if not been extended to you in person, but I couldn’t bear to let you think your scheme had not been noted! You are a terrible scoundrel and I love you dearly. I would do even if you hadn’t saved my husband’s life, for you were so good to Lucy that, regardless of the outcome, I shall always think of you as one of her saviours.
Do make sure we see you for Christmas, or I shall be quite cross with you!
Much love,
Mina Harker
Jonathan Harker
P.S. I read this out to Jonathan after finishing it, and he wishes to make it clear that the last three sentences may just as well have come from his own pen. He also told me to instruct you not to scoff at his signature if it is less than precise, for it comes mostly from recall, but I think no such instruction is needed.
Epilogue:
Jonathan Harker’s diary, 28 April
Today marks the first written entry I have penned since November. I have decided to begin the process of transcribing my phonograph diary entries, of which I have an array spanning a period of almost four months. It is a rather daunting task, but one that I must undertake eventually and so I may as well begin now. I’ve grown quite fond of the practice, I must admit – so much simpler than writing, even in shorthand! Especially now that I have gone so long without practicing it, I notice that it’s taking longer than I think it ought. That may also of course be due to some lingering effect of my illness, but I think it likelier that I’ve simply grown lazy with the conveniences of modern technology.
As I write this, I am now mostly recovered. Clear sight was the last part of my old self to be restored (if indeed any part of my old self has survived), and it is with great relish that I once more put pen to paper. I have missed it, these many months! My books, too, are once more open to me, and I look forward to reacquainting myself with them of a leisurely evening. I return to my firm on Monday, for although I have consulted on a few cases here and there since returning to Exeter in mid-January, I have mostly remained at home. Morris, our kitten, has appreciated my almost unending attention since we added him to the household in March, and I suspect he will not take kindly to my sudden absence during the day. He is a sweet creature, if rambunctious, and even now he is twining around my ankles and purring impressively. I shall likely spend the next two days removing cat hair from all of my clothing, but I despair of ever being truly free of it, for I have begun to find it in the most unlikely places. Still, I cannot begrudge him for it, for he is so full of affection for us that it seems he can hardly contain it. He reminds me that life is a gift, and that there is much to be grateful for.
There are still difficulties: I am occasionally struck by vicious headaches that leave me incompetent for a day or two at a time, and at times it is as though pages have been torn from my memory – not always the same pages, either, so I cannot too easily rely on a certain portion of records to remind me of what I cannot recall. Twice in the past few months I have fallen so ill that I scarcely had the strength to leave my bed, though neither illness, mild as they were, should have rendered me so weak as that. It seems that ‘should’ has little to do with anything anymore, and so I have had to accept that I am simply no longer the man I was before. This second bout, though lesser in duration and intensity, has wrought changes that the initial one did not, but fortunately they are manageable and have not disrupted my life too terribly.
I could not hope to speak of the past months without speaking of my dear and wonderful wife, who has been the source of my strength and the bedrock of my foundation when all else seemed to be tumbling to chaos. She is truly the most incredible woman, and her brilliance is surpassed only by her patient kindness. On both occasions when I was bedridden and loathing myself for it, she knelt beside me and repeated her wedding vows as she had that first time, but with the added ceremony of removing and then replacing the simple gold band she had purchased of her own salary. A token of her choice, she called it, and I wear it proudly upon the fourth finger of my left hand, as she wears hers. It is a simple thing, that action, but never fails to move me to tears of the deepest emotion.
She has taken a position in one of Exeter’s foremost preparatory schools, where she is beloved by all. She is a model of all that is good in this world, of intellect and competence and leadership and grace, and if anything good has come from the trials of the past several months then it is the awakening of her mind to the allure of physical science. She has discovered a passion for chemistry and has taken to devouring the copies of The Lancet that Jack sends to her regularly. For my part, I am content with my practice of law, but I look on her with wonder and pride and know myself to be the luckiest soul who has ever walked this earth.
I am stalling my transcription. The freedom to write is entrancing, and I find that I am hesitant to revisit those dreary days at the start of the year. How much more pleasant it would be to write of these vernal days instead! Of the sunlight and the gardens and the warm air, of the paths and parks we may now walk side by side without my having to lean upon arm or cane! Of the music I may enjoy without sickening pain, and the concerts we have attended!
But I feel compelled to make a written record of the times before, for in those days I was at my rawest and even still could find miracles in every hour. I reflected at length on those matters closest to my heart, bared as it was and stripped of all semblance, and slowly rebuilt myself upon the scaffolding of my realisations. Though he was at times a wretched and pitiable fellow, the man that I was in deep winter has much to teach the man I am now, and so I will mark his thoughts with the same diligence that any historiographer would apply to the subject of their study.
He and I will move into the light and warmth of summer side by side, and I will make a record of those golden days and so teach him as well.
I am more than this broken body, more than this damaged mind, for I am not alone.