Page 61 of Now Comes the Mist

She continues chatting as she bustles around the room, but I am suddenly having the greatest difficulty focusing on what she is saying. There is a sharp buzzing in my ears, like that of a fly, and when it subsides, I realize, shocked, that I am able to hear Arthur and Mamma conversing downstairs as distinctly as if they were in the room with me.

“Is that the telegram that just came, dear?” Mamma asks. “Is it bad news?”

“My father is worse. The doctors say he may not have much longer to live.”

She gasps. “Oh, Arthur, I’m so sorry.”

My body goes rigid at the revelation that I can heareverythingfrom behind a closed door and an entire floor away: Arthur’s feet pacing in the hall, the flutter of the telegram he is holding, and even Mamma’s hands wringing her skirt in sympathy.

“I confess, I have been thinking about returning to London soon myself,” Mamma says.

“And cut short your holiday in Whitby?” Arthur asks, distressed. “Not on my account?”

“No, dear. But on mine,” she says sadly.

I hold my breath, waiting for her to explain, when I notice Mina waving her hands for my attention. She calls my name in a loud voice, as though she has been doing it for some time. “Are you feeling ill again?” she asks, her blue eyes round with anxiety.

“No, no,” I say, flustered. “But Arthur has just received bad news about his father.”

“What? When? He looked so happy just now—”

The door opens and Arthur comes in, followed by my mother. I have not looked properly at Mamma since the night of the party, when she had been rosy and dressed in her best, and I am struck at once by the drastic change in her appearance. Purple shadows bloom beneath her faded eyes and her skin carries a sickly grey pallor, as thoughshehas been the one lying ill and not I.

“Mamma,” I say, unable to keep the horror from my voice. “Are you well?”

She kisses me and hugs my head against her side, perhaps to hide her face from me. “I will be fine after some food and rest. I have been anxious over you, that’s all.”

At the foot of the bed, Arthur holds up the telegram with tears in his eyes. “I have just received an urgent summons from London,” he says. “Papa’s health has taken a turn for the worse, and my mother and the doctors want me to come home at once.”

Mina stares at me, flabbergasted that I had predicted what he was going to say.

But I am focused on Arthur, my heart aching for the pain I can understand all too well. “I am so sorry, my love,” I say quietly, reaching out for his hand. “Of course you must go at once. Go be with your father and have no fear on my account.”

He kisses me, presses Mamma’s and Mina’s hands, and leaves without another word. I shut my eyes, praying desperately that the doctors are wrong and that Arthur will not find his beloved father taking his final breaths, the way I had found Papa once. My eyes fly open, and I look up at my mother in alarm. Her waxy, unhealthy pallor is like a knife to my heart.

“Why are you thinking of leaving Whitby so soon, Mamma?” I ask.

“How did you know that?” she asks, shocked. “I mentioned it to Arthur downstairs.”

“Lucy has been making some very astute guesses this morning,” Mina says slowly.

“Why are you cutting our holiday short?” I persist. “We always stay for another week. Doyoufeel poorly?” I do not miss the meaningful glance that passes between my mother and Mina.

But Mamma only says, “Hush, Lucy. You are getting much too excited. I told you, I have been so anxious over you that I haven’t been sleeping soundly, that is all. Dr. Van Helsing gave me pills to help and agreed that you and I might be more comfortable at home.”

“This is all my fault,” I whisper, taking in her hollowed cheeks and shadowed eyes. Hers is the face of a woman who has been mourning over the sickbed of her only child, perhaps wondering if she will soon have no one left in the world. “I have made you ill.”

“Nonsense,” my mother says firmly. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

I want to shout “Ihavedone wrong!” But I can see that my rising distress is upsetting her, so I try to calm myself. “Yes, I agree. We should gohome. We will both rest and recover, and we can be near Arthur if …” I swallow hard. “If he needs us.”

“Good.” My mother gives me an approving kiss and moves toward the door, slow and deliberate, as though the motion pains her. “We will take the afternoon train tomorrow.”

“Let me make the arrangements, Mrs. Westenra, and you lie down,” Mina says anxiously, hurrying after her. She glances back at me. “I will return in a moment, Lucy.”

Alone at last, I give in to my guilt and grief. My mother, always so full of merry gossip and energy, has become a ghost of herself in only four days. She seems to have aged years from care and worry. I have brought her closer to the grave. I press my hands over my eyes, weeping silently at my own folly. No. Not my folly. I had not wished forthis.

Vlad could have granted my request without such brutality, but he had not. He had almost killed me to teach me a lesson, all because I dared to ask for what he himself had chosen.

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