“Shut it, old man!”
Renfield jolted, terror coursing through him. They were coming to take his collection! He would never allow it. He grabbed the box, shoving it far beneath the metal frame of his cot, and climbed onto the bed.
Eyes wide, he looked around the dark room, waiting for any sign of intrusion.
He began to rock back and forth, back and forth, his mind racing.
“Soon,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Very soon.”
CHAPTER 5
Bistritz, Transylvania
The next morning, Mina awoke to the sounds of the villagers up and about in the streets below. She opened her eyes, her neck stiff from the lumpy straw mattress, her heart racing as she remembered the reason she had come all this way—today she would meet her husband.
Mina tried to push the thought from her mind, readying for the day as best she could in the small room, before making her way down the creaky steps. She found Jonathan at the table in front of the hearth, his eyes on a newspaper, as was usually the case. As she approached, she wondered how he was reading the local paper, given that he didn’t speak the language, though she supposed it wouldn’t be surprising to discover he was trying to teach himself Romanian.
“Ah,” he said upon noticing her arrival. “There’s our bride-to-be.” Mina paused, offering him a tired smile that must not have been very convincing. “Too early for celebration, I suppose. How did you sleep?”
Before she could respond, their hostess stepped into the room, all reservations from the night priorseeming to have thawed. “Sit, sit!” she said before turning back toward the kitchen. “Breakfast is coming.”
Mina sat down on the wooden bench across from Jonathan, returning to his question. “As well as could be expected.” She massaged a tight spot on the back of her neck.
“Well,” he said, setting the newspaper down, “considering you are soon to be a member of Transylvanian nobility, I imagine that will be the last time you sleep on a bed of straw for some time.”
Tension curled in Mina’s stomach at the reminder of their differences in social class, but there was something else that also unsettled her. It was one thing to overlook class for the sake of a love match, but the Count didn’t know her, had never even seen her.
“If he comes from such a powerful family,” she began, “don’t you think it’s odd that he should take a wife in such a way?”
What she didn’t voice was the sharper concern beneath:why would a man of such standing marry the daughter of a drunken stranger he met in a tavern?
Jonathan’s smile faded. “I’ve wondered that as well. Perhaps he hopes to establish stronger ties with England.”
Mina frowned. “Wouldn’t he be better off courting someone from an English noble family, if that were the case?”
“Probably,” Jonathan agreed. “Though he wrote to me and asked me to bring the papers for a property just outside of London. He is clearly interested in establishing himself in England.”
Mina stared at him. In all the months since she had learned of the marriage, the Count had never written to her, never attempted any kind of rapport between them—and yet he had written to Jonathan.
“When was this?” she asked.
“A few weeks back,” Jonathan said with a shrug, returning his attention to the newspaper on the table. “It’s an old abbey called Carfax. Not exactly luxurious, but I suppose it is spacious.”
“And you did not think to mention it to me?” she asked, her voice tight.
Jonathan shrugged, not seeming to see the issue. “It’s not as though it were a secret. It simply hadn’t come up.”
She let out a measured breath, schooling her expression. Perhaps to him it was a minor detail. Perhaps to someone like the Count, it was smaller still. Yet the familiar twist in her stomach returned—another decision made around her, one that would shape her life all the same.
“If anything, I should have thought you’d be pleased to hear it,” Jonathan went on. “I imagine you’re the reason he’s interested in the property. Perhaps to provide you with a place to stay, should you wish to visit home. It is not in the best orderat present, but with a woman’s touch, it could be made quite agreeable.”
Mina frowned. No part of her felt particularly inclined to make an old abbey feel like a home. But before she could say anything further on the matter, their hostess emerged from the kitchen carrying their breakfast. Mina offered the woman a polite smile, pushing her thoughts aside. What’s done was done, and there was little sense in fretting about it now. Besides, it wasn’t her place to question the Count’s decisions—or Jonathan’s, for that matter.
The morning spread was simple yet filling: bowls of thick maize porridge—mamaliga, according to Jonathan—plates of cold meats, and cups of black coffee to warm them. Jonathan was in the middle of explaining the differences between this porridge and the oatmeal they were accustomed to back home when the low murmur of a tense exchange drifted from the next room. Mina couldn’t understand the words, but there was that same tension woven into their voices that she had noticed the night prior.
“Speaking of the Count,” Jonathan said, appearing not to have noticed the strained discussion, “he’s secured a coach for us. A message was delivered today that said a carriage would be waiting for us at Borgo Pass.”
Mina nodded, though her unease lingered as they ate.
