Mina stared at it, knowing—hoping—that the priest would not be within. Yet some part of her wasn’t entirely sure. Perhaps the reason the raiders hadn’t found the priest was because he’d already been dead. The possibility made nausea churn in herstomach. Surely the death wasn’t a natural one, but could the Count have truly done such a thing?
Taking deep breaths, she stepped closer, holding her candle before her. The last time Mina had seen such a thing was at her father’s funeral months earlier, on the day that changed so many things for her. And now, as she stared at this one, she couldn’t help but notice how vastly different it was from her own father’s coffin that day in Highgate.
The wood was smooth mahogany, engraved. For a moment, she considered that maybe this wasn’t the final resting place of the priest, but perhaps it was a family member of the Count’s. But why keep it here, on its own, and not buried with the rest of his family?
Heart pounding, she set the candle on the stone floor to her right. She slid her fingers beneath the wood and lifted.
The lid was heavier than she’d expected, and it took considerable effort before it finally gave way. When she pushed it back, she froze—not at what lay inside, but at what did not.
A stench of old earth rose to meet her. The coffin was filled with nothing but a thick layer of soil. Why would anyone line a coffin with dirt?
She stared down at it, disbelieving. She ought to have felt relief at finding no body within, yet a profound wrongness settled over her instead. She couldn’t shake the sense that she was not meant to see this.
Slowly, she lowered the lid once more, setting it in place.
Lifting her candle, the weight of exhaustion finally descended upon her.
Her thoughts drifted back to the open gate she had stood before only hours earlier, to the fleeting consideration of escape. As she looked down the dark, winding halls, she found herself wishing she had taken that impulse more seriously.
CHAPTER 24
London, England
Rain fell upon the shadowed cobblestone streets as Dr. Seward made his way to Mrs. Westenra’s townhome. He’d received the telegraph not an hour before, but when he’d heard the symptoms his previous patient, Lucy, was experiencing, he’d left the asylum at once.
Dr. Seward walked up the handful of steps leading to their townhome and knocked on the door, looking over his shoulder to the night beyond. It was barely a moment later that the door opened, and Mrs. Westenra looked up at him, fear in her eyes.
“Thank you for coming,” she said. Dr. Seward could feel the weight of her distress as she went on. “I didn’t know what to do. She’s been so ill, and it’s only getting worse—”
“Not to worry, Mrs. Westenra. We will sort this out.” He gave her a polite smile and stepped inside the home, removing his wet boots at the door and hanging his dampened jacket on the hook next to the entrance. He picked up his doctor’s bag that he’d set down while he removed his clothing, and followed Mrs. Westenra up the tight staircase to the second floor.
The short hallway was dimly lit, the walls covered with paintings and photographs of Lucy in various stages of life. It was the reminder of her usual loveliness that made her appearance all the more alarming once Dr. Seward stepped into her bedroom.
There, in a poster bed, lay Lucy as he’d never seen her before. Her fair skin was drained of all color, the bones of her cheeks sharper than usual, and beneath her blue eyes, dark circles.
“Dr. Seward,” she said weakly, trying a smile.
“Hello, Lucy,” he said, his heart clenching at the sight. There was an empty chair next to the bed, and he eased into it, placing his doctor’s bag on the floor and taking the girl’s cool hand in his. “Your mother tells me you’ve been unwell.”
“I took her to the seaside,” Mrs. Westenra cut in from the foot of the bed. In her hands was a handkerchief she twisted around and around, tears brimming her eyes. “I thought the fresh air would help. She’s been sleepwalking again. Hasn’t been herself since Mina left.”
Dr. Seward recognized the name. “Is this Mina Murray you speak of?” She had been another patient of his some time ago.
Mrs. Westenra nodded. “She went off to marry some nobleman. That’s when all of this started.”
“It isn’t Mina’s fault,” Lucy said weakly. She turned to meet the doctor’s eyes then, a soft smile to her lips. “I’m happy for her.” Dr. Seward tried to return the smile.
“I’m not blaming Mina,” Mrs. Westenra said. “It’s just, I can’t think of what else has been the cause. That’s when the sleepwalking began again. It’d been years since Lucy last dealt with that, and now it’s back but so much worse.” A fresh wave of tears emerged and Mrs. Westenra sniffled, her cheeks flushed. “She’s grown weaker by the day. Can’t stand for more than a minute or two without her body giving out. And yet, she’s restless in sleep.”
“Don’t fret, Mother,” Lucy said. “It’s alright. Dr. Seward will take care of me. Isn’t that right, Dr. Seward?” There was a tightness to her smile that he saw now, and he wondered if her words were more for her mother than a true belief.
“I will do everything in my power to uncover the ailment,” Dr. Seward said.
He released her hand, digging into his bag and pulling out a stethoscope. He placed the chest piece carefully over her heart, listening to the rapid, weak beating.
“Have you had a great amount of blood loss lately?” he asked. “Perhaps menorrhea that has extended far too long? Or even an accident of some sort?”
“No,” Mrs. Westenra said quickly. She frowned, looking at Lucy. Dr. Seward turned to Lucy then, who shook her head in confirmation. “Why do you ask?”
