Part Thirty-one
Vespertine
Part Thirty-one
September 22, 1912
Dearest Mina,
Has it only been a day since I saw you last? How heavy these tedious hours are upon the hands of the clock. How cold my every moment seems now, now that I have your embrace to compare it to.
I had never thought to find myself so completely brought low by this emotion, milady. I had long subscribed to the silly notion that one's blood must cool with age, that the nights of passion and reckless joy belonged only to the young. But no. It is not so. I understand now that ancient Count's fascination, how a single kind look from you could resurrect me from the grave and set me on my course.
After all these months, divided as we were by countries and continents, I find that even the pervasive sadness of these times cannot douse the flame you have kindled within me. There is no remembered grief that does not bow before the memory of your kiss, bestowed in the newly gathered darkness of that extinguished lamp.
A single kiss, to say good-night. That was all. But what mad dash the chariot of my imagination now makes, whipped into its frenzy at the touch of those lips.
I am not so foolish in these thoughts, nor so blinded by that memory, that I could forget the odious tasks which still lay before us. My heart, as full of joy as it is, has spawned a secret twin of grief that weeps at your terrible burden. I cannot fully comprehend the arduous torture that your husband endured before he succumbed to that eternal kiss, nor do I make any claim that, should I find myself so sequestered, that I might fare any better. But I know the kiss of a fine woman, and I feel, a little at least, some of the love that her heart may bear. So please accept my testament that any man so blessed was most assuredly anchored to his own humanity by it. That it rooted him to the spot, and that only trickery or foul deception may have wrested his grasp away from one so dear to him as you.
I beg you, darling, do not allow Lord Baltimore's comments, penned in the hour of his most profound grief, to fester in your brain. You are not the cause of this tragedy. You are its hero. You are the angel of heaven to whom we all cling.
I have made arrangements with Lord Baltimore for dinner this evening. I shall do my best, as you may believe, to bring him to his good senses and end his foul disposition in your regard. Do send whatever prayers you may think to do, and I shall speak to you anon.
We shall see an end to this ere long.
Yours,
Charles
* * *
September 22, 1912
My dearest Charles,
I will make this brief, for my messenger must make haste if he is to intercept your departure for Lord Baltimore's.
I have just received word from a veteran of that last dreadful campaign, Doctor Van Helsing. He has agreed to meet me here on Tuesday, tomorrow next, at 7 o'clock in the evening. Please endeavor to convince Lord Baltimore to accompany you to my home, where we may all discuss, in sober judgment, what heinous deeds are to follow.
I mustn't delay. This letter must reach you before you leave.
But my memory is as good as yours, dear Charles. It lends a sweetness to these nights.
In haste,
Mina
Part Thirty-one
September 22, 1912
Dearest Mina,
Has it only been a day since I saw you last? How heavy these tedious hours are upon the hands of the clock. How cold my every moment seems now, now that I have your embrace to compare it to.
I had never thought to find myself so completely brought low by this emotion, milady. I had long subscribed to the silly notion that one's blood must cool with age, that the nights of passion and reckless joy belonged only to the young. But no. It is not so. I understand now that ancient Count's fascination, how a single kind look from you could resurrect me from the grave and set me on my course.
After all these months, divided as we were by countries and continents, I find that even the pervasive sadness of these times cannot douse the flame you have kindled within me. There is no remembered grief that does not bow before the memory of your kiss, bestowed in the newly gathered darkness of that extinguished lamp.
A single kiss, to say good-night. That was all. But what mad dash the chariot of my imagination now makes, whipped into its frenzy at the touch of those lips.
I am not so foolish in these thoughts, nor so blinded by that memory, that I could forget the odious tasks which still lay before us. My heart, as full of joy as it is, has spawned a secret twin of grief that weeps at your terrible burden. I cannot fully comprehend the arduous torture that your husband endured before he succumbed to that eternal kiss, nor do I make any claim that, should I find myself so sequestered, that I might fare any better. But I know the kiss of a fine woman, and I feel, a little at least, some of the love that her heart may bear. So please accept my testament that any man so blessed was most assuredly anchored to his own humanity by it. That it rooted him to the spot, and that only trickery or foul deception may have wrested his grasp away from one so dear to him as you.
I beg you, darling, do not allow Lord Baltimore's comments, penned in the hour of his most profound grief, to fester in your brain. You are not the cause of this tragedy. You are its hero. You are the angel of heaven to whom we all cling.
I have made arrangements with Lord Baltimore for dinner this evening. I shall do my best, as you may believe, to bring him to his good senses and end his foul disposition in your regard. Do send whatever prayers you may think to do, and I shall speak to you anon.
We shall see an end to this ere long.
Yours,
Charles
* * *
September 22, 1912
My dearest Charles,
I will make this brief, for my messenger must make haste if he is to intercept your departure for Lord Baltimore's.
I have just received word from a veteran of that last dreadful campaign, Doctor Van Helsing. He has agreed to meet me here on Tuesday, tomorrow next, at 7 o'clock in the evening. Please endeavor to convince Lord Baltimore to accompany you to my home, where we may all discuss, in sober judgment, what heinous deeds are to follow.
I mustn't delay. This letter must reach you before you leave.
But my memory is as good as yours, dear Charles. It lends a sweetness to these nights.
In haste,
Mina